Anger Management
by MyraRain223
Summary: The heroes of the world have been conquered and thrown into prison cells. who will survive? And can Jason Todd keep his undereducated family from being torn apart by the other inmates? With his snarky attitude? Come read and find out! Includes Jason, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, and Damian Wayne. possibly other heroes later. Rated T for Jason's usual antics and language.
1. Sad Song

**I couldn't get this idea out of my head… so here it is, please review. If not I'll probably just discontinue this story… Thanks for reading!**

It was just over a year ago when the invasion began. The creatures were as powerful as a kryptonian and they showed the unity of the JLA. Together they came in their little punk-ass spaceships and, under the guise of friendship, they gathered all the league members and collared them. Now the collars were probably the funnest part; they sapped any and all meta-humans of their powers. The flash, Superman, Martian Manhunter… all of them rendered powerless in a single day. Soon after they were all rounded up and placed in prison camps. Some were work camps, others were simply prisons. Why? Apparently humans seeing all their heroes rounded up like common criminals had some sort of psychological effect on the species. Go figure.

Unfortunately for them, they hadn't counted on all the heroes scattering into the wind only to disrupt the creatures' whenever they could. So far they'd gotten the bigger heroes. Very few still existed outside prison walls. Luckily, most of the Bat family hadn't been perceived as a threat so most were still masking their activities with the help of Oracle. Jason Todd, of course, was exempt from that list. He'd been caught trying to save a bunch of kids… Lucky, lucky, _lucky. _

As he stood now there was very little chance for escape, still, like always, Jason had a plan. He'd just need more muscle than he could scrounge up presently. So, he sighed, flipping a quarter between his fingers. Money was worthless now. All that mattered was the goods left in the dying husk of a world. The sun was brutal, the rain hardly ever came, and the heat was scorching. His jet-black hair stuck to his forehead wetly, white streak and all.

He almost wished he hadn't gotten every Meta to hate him, then maybe he'd have at least a couple of allies in here. As it stood he had one: a simpleton muscle head by the name of Barracks. True, not his real name, but nicknames kept you alive. Jason's blue-green eyes were analytical as he watched yet another prison fight break out. In a run-of-the-mill prison these types of battles were fought solely on a racial basis. The inmates would join together based on which side they joined. Now everything was based on Meta or human. There were no lines of grey.

The prison system was different. The guards were volunteer humans that didn't care if the inmates killed each other, in fact if a few Metas were killed in the process it worked to their advantage. So… barring a prison _riot_, the guards would do nothing. Well, that wasn't actually _too_ different from normal prison anyways.

Every day was the same. Wake-up call, mess, yard, mess, showers, back to the cells. The monotony led to the fights, the fights led to distractions – and that led to a possibility for escape, if you know what to do, that is. Since coming to the prison there had been a total of eight attempts on his life. So far he'd been shocked by the guards' electrified prods three times, stabbed twice, beaten down, and as of yesterday he'd narrowly avoided being gutted.

All in all, he was a pretty lucky bastard.

Regardless of the chance (it was pretty high) that he was going to be killed, Jason still only had a limited amount of time at this particular cage. Every prisoner in here was transferred at some point or another, either to a work camp a torture home, or simply killed. Why? It meant any heroes still out and about would not know where their friends were staying at any given time. Jason's number was coming up in a few months.

Barracks was steadily following him to the stairs, first stop: mess (AKA, breakfast slop). Jason got his "food" and moved to the far corner of the food hall, taking his usual seat – the single table from which an experienced set of eyes could spot violence stirring up anywhere in the room. Something was off today, the inmates were hasty, anxious. That only meant one thing. A new bus was coming in today, fresh blood. This would be interesting. The Metas would line up to see who would be joining them, the regulars would be waiting too. Then there would be Jason, waiting to see if maybe – just maybe – an old ally would appear, perhaps Roy or Kori…

The new blood filed out of the grey bus slowly, each one more bedraggled than the last. This was new. It looked like these prisoners had been tortured… Jason's frown deepened. That's when he spotted them. Four raven-haired men. Bruce, Dick, Tim, and… oh _shit_. Those assholes were sending Damian into the cage. A kid… Jason was on his feet in moments.

"I think we just found our way out, Barracks." Jason's eyes were still focused on the four members of his "family". He'd have to ally himself with them quickly before any of them ended up in the ditch of bodies lining the property.

…

They stood in a tight line, hands chained, collars attached. One of the guards, red haired and muscular, was talking, explaining the "rules". Meaning he was explaining that they could be killed at any given moment and the guards wouldn't lift a finger to help. His deep blue eyes instinctively rolled towards his partner, Damian. His son. Tim and Dick too… they'd caught all four members of the Bat clan. Minus Jason… It was a possibility that because he'd ceased being a hero and so never caught… Though they hadn't seen nor heard from the boy for months. Bruce found himself praying that Jason was safe, despite their troubled past.

The ginger-haired guard was showing off now, shocking the inmates that were either too slowly or to quickly. The indigent populations of inmates were screaming lewd comments, one of the favorites being "Fish". He supposed it would do. He and the boys had already been stripped of their nightly aliases, now they were just… the Wayne family.

So far the other inmates hadn't recognized the billionaire or his sons, but Bruce knew it was only a matter of time.

As the new prisoners filtered through the thick, metal doors of the entry building a guard could be heard in the distance. Apparently it was chow time. Guess they were just in time.

Their chains were removed, they were told to walk. He pushed his sons in front of him, keeping Damian close.

There was an old man in the lineup, overweight, yet muscular. His posture displayed his panic. He was going to make a run for it. Bruce knew the moment he started fidgeting, he knew it when the man's feet started stepping out of line. When he ran, it was no surprise. However, it _was_ a surprise when he hit the ground in convulsions grasping desperately at his neck…

The red haired guard was talking again, "And this, my friends, is what happens if you step out of line." He gestured to the cameras, "if our men see you misbehaving… well, unless it looks like a simple 'misunderstanding', they may fidget over the kill switch," He smiled wickedly and the old man stopped his spasms, presumably dead. Definitely dead when they dragged him away.

Bruce kept his eyes forward, even as Tim flinched visibly over the death of the man.

He sighed deeply, feeling the uncomfortable scratch of the collar as they were shoved into the mess hall.

The detective rolled his eyes over the mass of inmates inside. All were eyeing the new troupe, something about their grins made his skin itch they were looking too closely at his sons.

"Welcome home, fish." The red-haired guard spat before dispersing his guards.

They were alone now. Alone with about two-hundred and fifty-five inmates that were nearly all criminals and villains the Batman had faced in his past.

Bruce ushered his sons into the room. They were given trays full of… some sort of food by-product. The inmates were cat calling and hooting Three of them stepped forward, blocking the small family's access to the tables. The father stepped forward, instinctually slipping into a defensive pose.

The three grinned sardonically, "well, well. Lookie what we have here." The biggest of the three stepped forward. He was tall, maybe six foot. Maybe two-hundred and thirty pounds. Nothing his family couldn't handle.

Bruce's muscles tensed, ready to fight if it came to it.

It never did. The man stepped back, suddenly wary. When the hand landed on Bruce's shoulder, he was ready to break a few fingers before he recognized the jet-black hair with the single white streak. He recognized the shit-eating grin. The familiarity of his features, the set of his jaw… Bruce's eyes widened.

…

"We got a problem here, Jackhammer?" He said, the grin still spread wide across his face. Dean took the bait. He stepped forward, anger apparent on his face. That was Barracks' cue. Jason's muscular friend walked between them, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly.

The popping from Barracks' set them on edge. "Sorry, my friend here gets a little… Jumpy." He chuckled humorlessly before gesturing to his family, "They're off limits, Jack-o."

The Jack turned about eight shades of pink, it would actually be obscenely funny to anyone that wasn't standing about three feet away. Nonetheless, when the rage began to fade the man's greedy black eyes cleared. "Look, why don't we talk about this. I run the market in this hell hole. Maybe you and I could… y'know… split the profits." He gestured to Damian who responded with disgust.

Jason nodded his head, smiling sweetly. Abruptly Jason was in motion, he kneed the filth right in the place that makes boys cry. Jack crumbled to the floor and Jason turned, "We need to leave. Now." He pulled Bruce with him, his brothers followed.

"You're dead for this, Jake! Dead!" Jack stuttered out.

As he walked away he spat over his shoulder, "Yeah, yeah, death and destruction. Yadda yadda. Number 7 gang. Keep _moving_." He pushed Bruce forward to his usual table. Barracks trailed behind blankly.

Dick's eyes held a spark of curiosity, but no conviction. Tim and Damian glared. Bruce watched impassively as all four sat down. Family bonding certainly was a beautiful thing.

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but Damian cut in, "We could have handled ourselves against that perv, Tod-" This time he was interrupted by a smack to the head.

"Shut up you idiot!" Jason hissed, "There's a reason everyone here calls me 'Jake', and it's not a coincidence." The brothers were all glaring now.

Jason took a deep breath before speaking again. "Never let them know what you can do. They will kill you like that," he snapped his fingers, "and that _perv_ over there is Jack Laurell, a serial rapist who kidnapped, murdered, and raped over _sixteen_ kids. Not always in that order either. He owns the market down here. That means he owns a lot of guys that will gut you if you so much as look at them the wrong way."

Damian swallowed. Dick watched Jason carefully, "If that's the case then why did you step up for us, _Jake_?"

Jason took a moment before looking at each of his family members individually. "Because, if I die it makes no ripples. If the goddamn _Batman_ dies, the world is screwed. Well, more screwed than it already is," Jason smiled.

Bruce actually looked a little horrified. That was unexpected, worth it, but unexpected. His brothers were avoiding eye contact. All but Damian, who simply looked.. like Damian. "Look, we don't have much time here, so I'm going to give you the facts straight up. It's three to a cell, if you're late to your cell the guards won't hesitate to activate the collars. By the time they stop you'll be too out of it to fight back against any wayward hands. So… be in your cell." He let his words sink in. "so far, I've got Barracks in the cell next to mine, we've both got singles so it works out perfectly," He smiled deviously, "Besides, the other prisoners were starting to get grabby." He waggled his eyebrows.

If it were possible, Bruce's expression deepened.

"Let's go Ladies!" It was the red-headed guard again.

Jason followed Bruce's eyes to the man. "His names Border. He won't hesitate to shock you, just for the fun of it. Steer clear." With that, he stood up. "My full names Jake Forester. And you are?" He held his hand out to Dick first.

"Just call me Dean Burrows," Dick said, loud enough for the surrounding tables to overhear. Jason turned to Tim.

"Travis Jones."

Jason nodded and turned to Damian.

"You may call me Daren Burrows." Dick smiled at his brother softly.

Bruce sighed before letting the name roll from his tongue, "Byron Bowen."

Jason let his gaze shift over all of them. "Welcome to prison, boys."

**Please review**


	2. Blood Will be Spilt

**Here's the next chapter, let me know any comments you have in the review section. My writing is dependent on reviews , so please let me know your thoughts! Also, if you would like to see anything in particular happen or any other DC heroes to appear let me know in your review! I'm open to ideas. **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything DC does, my only characters are the inmates of my original design. The Batman characters are DCs… 8)**

Chapter 2

As expected the first night was a complete and utter _bitch _for them. While the members of the Batclan had been safeguarded from the wrath of the other inmates for the night... well, the other fish were not so lucky. Their anguished screams echoed through the empty halls, behind the bars about twenty new inmates were being beaten, raped, or murdered. On Jason's first night he hadn't been able to sleep because of, y'know, self-preservation and all.

After all the attacks against him had ended in frankly excruciating death, the other inmates had learned to steer clear of him. It wasn't even about proving that he could kill them; in here it was about proving that no matter how much damage you took none of it would break you. True, in most of his fights he'd held back so none of the others would know what he could do – really, so that the guards wouldn't know. When they first captured him he was simply Jason Todd, an escaped criminal. So… He had to make sure no one found out about his old, nightly extracurriculars.

Anyways, he had to keep a close eye on the others. There are no medical teams in this place, so if you get into a fight that draws blood chances are you're going to be dead within a week – if you aren't killed outright.

There was one TV in the entire place and it displayed the same message over and over… "Surrender. Your world is broken, your heroes are gone, and your lives are forfeit. Those that wish to serve the will of Korshook, turn yourselves in and become a believer. Enter the fold and experience a world without war, famine, disease, or disagreeable violence - " It went on to show video clips of the JLAs final hours, the loss of the majority of its members. Jason had to look away.

What the bastards weren't telling the people was that by 'surrendering' they would be placed in ghettos, forced to work nonstop, and murdered outright for insubordination. Of course, the only way to attain the whole 'disease-free' lemony fresh world was to cull the herds, AKA, the people. Every time the population was growing too quickly. It was like a twisted dystopia of Ra's Al Ghul's making. Jason had no doubt that if earth did manage to survive this catastrophe the people would become much more fearful of their neighbors. There would be widespread terror, violence, and, eventually, a rally against anything and anyone alien to Earth. Well, except maybe alien weaponry. The people would be all too happy to take that.

Jason sighed heavily. He climbed out of his bunk and analyzed his surroundings. Bruce and Damian (otherwise known as Daren and Byron), had chosen to stay in his cell while Dick and Tim (Dean and Travis) stayed with Barracks. The cell doors opened, intended on being a wake-up call. Not that anyone here needed it, with all the commotion of last night very few had actually slept. Jason was quite proud; he'd gotten a full four hours. Judging from his family's groggy footsteps and the dark circles forming under their eyes, they hadn't slept peacefully.

Damian was the first to speak, "Is it like that _every_ night?"

Jason sighed, "Sometimes, Little D. The noise is usually at a halfway manageable level, but last night was the first time we've had fresh blood in weeks, so it was… hectic. Tonight will be no better, so be prepared." The boy groaned, leaning heavily into Bruce's side.

As usual, Barracks was at the 'door' to his cell ASAP, followed momentarily by Dick and Tim. The sleep deprivation wasn't as evident on the former as it was on the latter. It was going to be hell to keep them all together until the day was out.

Barracks stared at him expressionlessly, waiting for the day's procedure to be read out to him. "All right, the gangs all here." Jason took out his quarter and began to spin it between his fingers, "first things first, kiddies. Do NOT let _Daren_ out of your sights for any reason. I don't care how good of a fighter he is, things have changed. Most of the scum in here knows something about fighting and they won't hesitate to kill. Rule number two," Jason held up two fingers, "stay away from crowds. Chances are that's a gang looking to tear you limb from limb. I'll point out the major players today, but there are power struggles every day so be aware and get out of the way before you're caught in the cross-fire." Jason took a breath, taking the opportunity to scan his surroundings and his listeners. "Final rule: Darwin wins. Don't be stupid. Don't run your mouth," he looked directly at Damian. "Don't show off," Now Dick. "Don't get cocky, figuratively or literally," Tim. "And _don't_ think your moral code has any merit here." Finally Jason's blue-green eyes were resting on Bruce's royal blue ones. "If someone attacks you and I'm not around… You best finish them off. If you don't, you'll be painting a target on your back." His gaze never wavered from Bruce's.

"Is this some stupid way of yours to shove your ideals on us? 'Cause I'm not buying it," Tim spat.

"Look, kid, There are no medics to come in here if you're hurt. There are no supplies to stop infection. If you so much as scrape someone and walk away from a fight the possibility you're living with for that person is a conviction to a slow death. Guess what that gets you; hate from any friends that guy had. It also gets you a pretty little stamp saying 'Will not kill, please attack me,' but by all means, go ahead and keep condemning my tactics."

Jason smirked as Tim looked away.

"Ethics aside, we need to decide how to get out of here," Dick said slowly.

Jason gestured for them to follow him to the stairs before speaking, "I have a plan, but we'll have to discuss that later. We need to get food… err… stuff."

The family filed down the stairs and made their way to the lineup. Jason noticed the wry looks passed between the other inmates, the glee-ridden scum were planning something. He turned to Barracks, speaking only loud enough for his family to hear. "It seem a little quiet, B?"

Barracks didn't take a moment to look around, he simply answered, "Too quiet. Storm comes." Jason patted the taller man on the back.

"That's what I was afraid of." Jason nodded at Bruce, who nodded back in understanding. Jason had seen this coming like a freight train, the Number 7 gang was moving, probably against everyone's favorite crew the Bloodhounds. 7 was made up of humans with a few Metas that had joined as muscle. Blood was entirely composed of Metas. They were going to move today.

"When the fighting starts, get back towards the cells," He whispered to Bruce. Bruce turned and gave the message to his sons. Barracks got into position on the end of the line, Jason stood still on the other, keeping his family between them.

Border smiled, swept his hand in the air, signaling for the guards to leave. The last of them stepped out. Then all hell _really _broke loose. The two gangs stepped out of line, both drawing improvised weaponry. Jason laid his hand on Bruce's arm, pulling the man back. The batclan followed, even as the weapons flew and blood was spilled. "Well that's just wonderful. Looks like my hit list needs updating. Pity." Barracks smiled and the others focused on the bloodshed before them.

Within the first five minutes of the brawl eight men were on the ground and bleeding out. Lucas Pithy, convicted serial murderer (and number eight on Jason's hit list) was going after Ricky Rey, convicted of arson fires that killed nine people (he was number twelve), while Jack-o, leader of Number 7 (and coincidentally number six on his list) was clearing a path towards Jason. He laughed inwardly. This was going to be fun.

Jason smiled, stepped forward, and prepared to kill (defend, he definitely meant _defend _his family). Jack was in front Jason, waving around a nice and pointy screw, sharpened into a weapon.

"you know what Jakey? When I took my first, she'd already squealed for hours before I finally ended her. I think I wanna hear that again," He sneered. All right. His name just moved up on the list. Jason lunged. Jason took hold of the man's wrist and twisted, savoring the sound of the bone popping out of place. The screw clattered to the floor and his arm dangled uselessly at his side.

"Funny, I was kinda thinkin' it'd be your screams that echo these halls, number _four_." Jason shoved the man backwards. He let himself fall into a crouch, muscles tense and ready to pounce in moments… He broke of abruptly. The guards had returned and activated the collars. Jason backed away, allowing the guards to shock the inmates still fighting. Jack landed heavily on the ground, convulsing painfully.

"I thought you said not to make ripples," Dick said. Jason smiled and returned to his position beside his family.

"well, you know me, always with the theatrics," He ground out. Border screamed something about being thrown in the shoe… The men were being rounded up, all rendered indisposed by the collars.

Jason shook out his hands, rolling his shoulders and breathing heavily. The adrenaline of the fight was still filtering through his body, keeping him wide awake and alert.

"So what now, _Jake_?" Tim whispered.

Jason smiled, "well, y'know, the usual. We hit the showers. Then we eat. Plan hasn't changed too much, we just need to wait and see if this little game here has shifted the balance. If so, we need to be vigilant and see who our new players are."

"What exactly were you planning on doing, Jason?" Dick was speaking now, he'd stepped forward to stand nose-to-nose with Jason.

"What did it look like? I was going to sit down and have a tea party." Jason smirked, "c'mon."

Bruce and Dick were angry, Jason could feel it radiating off of them. Damian was upset, but it was undirected. Tim… Well, Jason wasn't sure what to make of the emotions hidden there. He rolled his eyes and motioned for them to move ahead.

…

The showers had been an awkward situation to say the least, a few hands had been caught a wandering, but the brothers had held their own. For that, Bruce was grateful. He still wasn't exactly sure how to feel about Jason's actions, but if last night had been any indication… well, he didn't think he would have much of a choice here.

The food was the same slop from yesterday. Jason led them to the same table as yesterday, Bruce had to admit his boy was using his head. From this position he could see any movements made by the other inmates. He thought about saying as much, but decided better after a moment.

Jason was pointing out the different gang leaders and the boys were absorbing the knowledge. Bruce was memorizing faces.

Leon Dawson, convicted on charges of attempted murder and suspicion of mob affiliation. Dark hair, brown eyes, Caucasian, 6', approximately two-hundred and ten pounds. Leader of the Bloodhounds, meta.

Jack Laurell, convicted of several counts of rape and murder. Blonde hair, green eyes, also caucasion, 6'1", approximately two-hundred and forty pounds. Leader of Number 7, human.

Several others were mentioned briefly, but these two were the major ones they needed to watch. Since Jack had been imprisoned, his gang was in a state of transition. All Bruce had to do was sit and wait for someone to make a move. Or so Jason kept telling him.

"… There will be a lot of blood spilled today, then, when the guy gets out you can expect to see even more blood on the ground." Jason was staring intently at Bruce while the others ate.

"How many have you killed." Everyone at the table stopped. The boys were avoiding eye contact, Jason was still staring. He'd been expecting this.

"Before or after I got sent to this shithole?" Jason smiled, "the number's high either way."

"Don't you understand? This isn't the life I want for you. You should be something, someone so much better. You don't need to sink to their level—"

Jason stood from the table, but his next words were a deadly whisper meant only for those sitting with them, "I'm gonna make this simple for you _Byron_. I bloody my hands so that you don't have to. I'm hunted down like a goddamned animal – just like you all are, but on top of that I'm the casualty of your sanctimonious hypocrisy! I gotta beg the question, if what I'm doing is so morally degrading how is it that we have laws protecting murder in the name of self-defense? Why is it OK when the army shoots down an enemy platoon? Think about it; if the Joker, or any other villain we've faced for that matter, were to take a hostage and the police had a sniper in place do you honestly believe that they _wouldn't_ make that shot? Some people don't deserve to live and it doesn't matter which person gets that job. The military, the police, or the vigilante. I was raised to fulfill a higher purpose, and I'm telling you that this is it." He paused and took a shaky breath before continuing, "I think it's time you get off your damn high horse and take a good long look at your antiquated 'code' because it doesn't work anymore, not here. Stop condemning my ways. You don't have to accept what I do, but you need to stop railing against me."

With that his son left the table, heading for the lineup. Jason's words hit him deeply. Everything Jason had said were things he himself had though many times before. Bruce could lie to himself all he wanted… Jason was a failure, his mind was lost, he was already dead and buried… but Jason was here now, and he had kept them safe. His sons were looking at him for direction, but truly, Bruce had absolutely no idea how to deal with his black sheep.

**Review please!**


	3. Damian

**Alright, this one's a little short, but so is Damian and it's about him so… there's your explanation 8D**

**I plan on having small moments take place between each of the brothers that start mending all the broken… stuff…. Between the brothers and then lastly Bruce… We'll see how it works out. If you care about what's going to happen or want to see something in particular take place, don't hesitate to throw it out there in a review… 8) Thanks guys! **

**Warning this chapter will include some suggestive themes, but just to be clear there is no slash between the brothers (like anywhere in my story)… just a very unfortunate moment for Dami. **

**ONWARD!**

Chapter 3

In his opinion they were all idiots. Father was trying too hard to keep him on a short leash, and Grayson and Drake kept watching him like bumbling overprotective hens. Todd was the only one bearable to be around. At least he did not baby him. Todd simply hinted about things, but never pushed, leaving the final decision up to him. For that Damian was grateful – though he would never, _ever_, admit that.

It had been about a week since the first argument between Todd and Father. Subsequently the two had argued and bickered four times, now they were in a period of awkward silence and ignoring the existence of one another.

Todd had explained his plan in detail, but only with his brothers and Father. Why hadn't they explained it to him? The annoyance of the whole matter was overwhelming. Damian found himself wandering farther and farther from the table, still within good distance to his family. There were boards that displayed times and names. When Damian had asked his brother about it, Todd had told him that the times represent the dates of transfer.

Every prisoner was given a certain allotment of time at any given prison and transfer dates were posted here. According to Todd, they did this to incite violence. The closer the transfer dates, the more chance an inmate had of being transferred to a torture facility – meaning the prisoner had nothing to lose by instigating riot. The more dead bodies in the ditch, the fewer inmates the guards had to worry about. The family had just over three months left. Todd had fewer than two…

He wasn't sure how to feel about that, or if he should feel anything at all.

Damian could feel the eye on him; he could hear the snickers and cat-calls from the others. He chose to ignore them, his eyes still planted on "Jake Forrester's" numbers.

That's why he never noticed the guard stalking behind him with several other inmates at his heels.

…

"It _will_ work. I've run the numbers. This is the only way we'll be getting out of this hell hole." Jason said in a hushed tone.

Dick had been silent for the entire conversation of his plan; he spoke softly now, "Do you think we'll be able to gather the things we need?"

Jason let his gaze drift to his brother, "With Jack out of the way? Absolutely. He was the only speed bump in my plan. You four offered me the opportunity to be rid of him." He smirked deviously.

"Oh, so what does that make us to you now? How do we know you won't just betray us at the final hour?" Tim asked crossly.

Jason's teal eyes met Tim's steely blue directly, "You don't. You'll just have to…" He paused, looking genuinely thoughtful, "Have a little faith." Tim looked doubtful, but to his surprise, Dick looked genuinely hopeful.

"Where's Daren?" Bruce's question abruptly cut in, setting them all on edge. Damian was nowhere to be found. Jason stood abruptly.

"When did he..?" Dick started.

"One of the guards is gone. There are always twelve on duty. I only see eleven," Jason said flatly.

"What does that mean?" Tim asked.

Jason sighed heavily, still scanning the mess hall. When he finally turned his gaze back to Tim there was something foreign there that had never been present before. "It means our little friend has stumbled into a very bad situation."

…

Damian was disoriented. He'd been expecting the beating from the inmates, but not the numbing shocks from the guard's prod. He didn't want to admit it, but… Todd had been right, he couldn't fight off the effects of that damn electrified cattle prod. If he made it out of this, Damian would be sure to use it on the guard himself. Didn't they realize who he was?

There were five of them. Four were beating the hell out of him. The fifth, an overweight man in his late thirties, was watching with a sort of manic glee. That list Todd had mentioned was starting to make sense now…

Blood flowed into his eye from a gash on his forehead. Damian winced as he heard the audible crack of his ribs. He flinched away from the foot that came stomping into his stomach. He released a muffled cry when a makeshift blade was placed against his throat and the blows slowed, then stopped. The fifth man stepped forward, hands fumbling with his belt.

Damian wasn't sure if he'd ever felt disgust so close to boiling over, and he definitely had never felt fear this real. He couldn't feel his limbs as the residual effects of the electricity wore off, the new-formed bruises replacing the numbness. He swore his heart had jumped into his throat because despite all the curses forming on his tongue... he couldn't bring himself to speak. The smile that formed on the man's face made him want to hurl. The sheer vulnerability he felt made him sick with himself as well…

Damian closed his eyes, trying to block the situation out completely. All he heard were grunts of pain, no one touched him. The blade cutting his throat was dropped, the man holding him up dropped him. His head slammed into the concrete below him, but all he registered was the relief.

Damian let the curses that had been resting on his tongue loose.

When the boy opened his eyes the men were on the ground, the crooked guardsman was gone, and Tod- _Jason_ was crouched over him.

Damian had never been so happy to see the wayward gunslinger.

…

Jason had barked commands to the rest of the family about where to search before moving off towards the transfer board. There were five men up there that were being transferred tomorrow. All members of the same gang, led exclusively by Kyle Skully (number eighteen on the list). If that man had taken Damian then Jason knew where he'd be.

There was only one place in the entire prison that the cameras could not cover. The blind spot was the perfect place for the only crime that they would want Damian for. He turned the corner and slipped out of the mess hall heading for the "alley" – where most of the crimes in this place took place.

What he came upon the gang cornering his little brother Jason was overcome with an obliterating rage.

"Step away, or I swear I will castrate all of you." They stared at him dumbly, afraid for their lives. _Ahh well_, Jason thought.

In seconds the man holding the blade to Dami's throat was on the floor with a slit throat. The 'knife' was in his possession now. He gutted the second man, one that had been beating the kid moments before. Jason grabbed the final two and rammed their heads together with an distinct snap. Jason took a breath and looked around at the blood staining the ground. Finally (it had only been about thirty seconds) it was just Jason and Kyle.

"Congratulations. You've just moved up the list. Say hello to your god, asshole." Jason was on him in moments, he grabbed the belt the man had discarded and wrapped it around his throat. He watched as the color and life drained from Kyle's beefy face. It was over in moments.

Jason turned to Damian. The boy was disoriented beyond belief mumbling incoherently. What words Jason could make out would make the impassive Alfred go beet red.

"Look, all I wanted was a 'thank you', but you have been raised by Bruce so I assume that's the best I'm gonna get, huh?" Jason smiled, pushing the boy into a sitting position. The kid was practically limp in his arms. Jason let out a sigh of frustration before lifting the kid off the floor.

"What the hell were you thinking, wandering off on your own?"

"You did it the other day," he said groggily.

"Mimicking me now, huh? Bad idea, Little D. The big man would not approve."

"-Tt-, like I would ever mimic _you_. And what makes you think I care what he says?" But it was a half-hearted disagreement that made Jason smile. The boy clicked his tongue and Jason only just held back a chuckle.

**Why didn't I tell you all the direct specifics about "the plan"? Don't worry, there's a specific reason I didn't, all leading to the main event…. ^^**

**Please Review! Let me know what you think, if there's anything you'd like to see done, or just overall opinions of the piece! Thanks!**


	4. Worthwhile Ambition

**OK… the next chapter is up, it's a far cry from how I originally imagined it, but my inner Grayson gave me the finger and set me straight… ^^"**

**To all those that have reviewed so far I thank you kindly! Thank you for the motivation to continue writing this! I hope you like where this story has gone so far and where it will be heading in the next few chapters or so… either way, I'm glad to have you with me. ^^**

**Let me know what you all think, The next chapter is going to be hectic, but hopefully this will give you a cute moment of relief… We'll see. Thanks for reading! And please review! **

**It has recently come to my knowledge that I may have screwed up Damian's nickname while I was editing this…. So here's an updated version of Chapter and a promise that as soon as my writer's block clears up there will be a chapter for Tim and then the family will be in crisis…. That ought to be fun… ^^**

Chapter 4

The man watched the scenario play out through angry, black eyes. He watched Jake walk to the blindspot, watched him kill the men there. He watched the man carry the kid out of the hole. Their gazes met briefly as Jake glared at each prisoner in the mess hall. The new fish and Barracks came out from different corners and crowded around him. Jake led them up the stairs and to the bunks. The guards turned a blind eye.

"Looks like Jake's making a power play. Even has his own little gang goin'. We're gonna have to take care of him or else…."

Leon Dawson smiled cruelly, ignoring the member's comment. He was a burly man, previously a meta and currently leader of the Bloodhounds. His chestnut hair fell lazily over his forehead, only coming to a stop at his dark eyes. He wore the same as everyone else: blue khakis and a wife-beater. It was ironic really, since about half the inmates here had actually _beaten_ their wives. He didn't let his mind wander.

He turned to the main guard around here: Border. "What would it take to get a certain someone's transfer date moved up?"

Border eyed him up and down, no doubt inspecting his worth to see how much he could get. "How much you got?"

"Could scrape together some money or a few of the younger boys if that's what you're in to." Leon winked, but Border was not amused.

"eight hundred and he'll be gone within the week."

Leon let the wry smile spread across his face as he let loose the command, "Get it done. The money will be in your account by Friday. I want Jake Forrester transferred to the torture camps ASAP."

Border returned the smile before walking away, presumably to get the process started. Leon leaned back in his seat and let the games begin. The next few days were going to be interesting.

…

Jason stared out at the mess hall below with nothing more or less than boredom outwardly. Inwardly he was assessing the movements and interactions between the gang members of the Bloodhounds. That was – until Bruce appeared at his side. The man was overbearing and stole Jason's attention from the actions of the inmates below.

"Who did it?" His voice came out as a growl of outrage, yet it was toned down enough to sound like a hiss.

Jason made no motion to answer verbally, he simply tilted his head to the guards below who were now dragging the bodies of Kyle and his little group. Blood was spattered on their clothing and a few of the on looking inmates regarded Jason in an expression that could only be fear. He answered those looks with a wicked smile that forced them to turn away.

"You do realize that you didn't have to _kill_ them, right?" Bruce said, eyeing the gruesome ways each was killed.

"You do realize that big one down there was going to _rape_ the kid, right?" Jason's answer was full of his outrage and disgust. Bruce actually flinched. He had no response for that. Amazing, the empath that is Bruce Wayne is struck speechless.

"I did what I had to. Besides, Kyle was on my list." Jason smirked at his father.

"I see. So how many others are on this 'list'?" Below the surface, because he had known his mentor for so long, Jason was able to pick out the barely-contained rage boiling at the surface. This attempt at conversation was simply to distract himself from the current predicament. In that moment Jason almost wished he'd spared Kyle long enough for Bruce to go at him. Almost.

"Careful now. A guy might think you actually care." He smiled before continuing, "The list grows and shrinks every day. For now there's about… eighty on the list. But thirty are on the waiting list."

"You have a waiting list to be on _the_ list?" Bruce almost cracked a smile, humor was written on his features. The fury was still there, but it was placed on the backburner.

"A waiting list that has just gotten smaller, yep." Jason found himself flipping his quarter between his fingers again. Since coming here it had been his only real possession in this place. It helped keep him focused as he turned his attention back on the mess hall.

"The other inmates are starting to move. Something big is going to happen in the next few days. Hopefully they're just planning on putting me into an early grave – not like that hasn't happen before." Jason smiled at his father who all of a sudden looked very uncomfortable. The words had affected him more than Bruce would have liked to say. A thought flashed in his mind – an image of a young boy lying motionless, cold, broken… dead.

"You have family now. What you did for him," He gestured to the cell where Damian was sleeping, "I won't ever forget it." _Just like I've never forgotten you_, Bruce finished in his mind.

Jason let his gaze lazily fall to Bruce. The expression there was familiar. "Thanks, but I didn't do it for you. No kid deserves that."

Bruce nodded. He hesitantly laid his hand on Jason's shoulder, lightly squeezing it before walking into the cell he shared with his two sons. It was all the contact Bruce could afford his wayward bird, but it was enough to offer Jason a spark of emotion.

…

"The guards are planning a lockdown." The words were slow coming out of Barracks' mouth, but each syllable struck a chord.

Jason looked at his friend disinterestedly. "when?"

Barracks moved to stand beside Jason. It had been a couple of days since the attack against Damian. The boy was having trouble sleeping, but other than that was showing no signs of being affected by his trauma. The boy had not approached nor thanked him once; he simply avoided Jason… well, as much as he could, considering they shared a cell. This lockup business was probably the most interesting thing to cross through the prison since the new fish had arrived.

"I think it will be going down Friday. 'm not sure." He said quietly.

"That leaves us two days," Jason paused to scan his surroundings before he continued. "So far we've collected the rope, the beater, the clothes, and the acids. That only leaves a few more ingredients and our little recipe will be complete." He let himself smile, "We sure are ahead of schedule. I keep expecting the bottom to drop out leaving me on my ass and without a way out."

Jason turned determined eyes on Barracks once again. "You think we can do it, B?"

The muscular man seemed to consider for a few moments before turning back to Jason. "I don't like being dropped on my ass, Jay. Plan will work."

Jason let himself snicker at that as Dick approached. "Hey."

"Yeah," Jason acknowledged his brother with a flippant hand gesture.

"I may have overheard some interesting information in the yard," He said. _Great, this is already sounding like an argument_, Jason thought wearily.

He sighed heavily. "Yeah, what is it?"

"I've heard rumors that you… You killed a human guard. What happened?"

Jason's eyes widened, but when he answered his voice displayed deadly calm. "Drop it, Bird boy."

"No, Jay, don't _do_ that. Please, just answer me. Why did you kill a guard?"

"Do you know what it means to be locked in the SHU, _Dean_?" Dick didn't respond, but he stared at Jason expectantly.

He sighed again, irritation leaking into his voice. "Nevermind. And just forget whatever it is you heard. It was nothing. Besides, we have bigger problems. It seems there's word a lockdown is being instigated this Friday."

Dick glared at the obvious change of subject, but obliged his brother nonetheless. "So? Why is that so important."

"Lockdowns here happen for one of two reasons. One: there's a riot started by the inmates and the guards lock the place down to lower the total prison population… or… two:" Jason paused to take in a shaky breath, "The guards plan on transferring some inmates out under the guise of said prisoners having 'too-violent' tendencies displayed during the lockdown…"

"So, they are planning on transferring some inmates or ditching some bodies?" His brother looked taken aback as he phrased the question. Jason merely nodded.

"Yep, and with the recent activity, I'm willing to bet they'll be targeting a member of our 'family' during this little charade." Dick glanced at his brother crossly, taking a deep breath.

"Little D wants to switch cells with me. It's not much distance…"

The words stung, and Jason cut him off. "Fine, you and Damian can switch. I don't care. It's a free... well, it _used_ to be a free country."

Dick nodded. Jason turned to walk away but the older man was firmly cemented directly in his way. Guess their "talk" wasn't done yet.

"Look, Jay, I just wanted to –"

Jason held up a hand to stop him, "Look, I don't want any chick-flick moments here, so whatever you gotta say… take out all the gooey stuff _now_."

He blinked, the fidgeted gracelessly before finally straightening to his full height (a full hand shorter than Jason). "Thank you." It was simple, just two words. It didn't mean much, but it was a start.

The younger man could only nod stiffly, not fully sure how to react. The last time Dick had… hell, _had_ his brother _ever_ said those two small words to him? Jason found he couldn't recall.

"I may not agree with your methods, but I still appreciate what you did for Little D…"

"The hell did I just say about the cutesy crap?" Jason growled.

Dick just smiled and shook his head, "You're unbelievable."

"You're welcome." Jason said. And Dick couldn't be sure if that comment was intended as a snarky comeback or a genuine display of acceptance. He supposed in the end, it really made no difference.

…

_The darkness surrounded him as completely as it had when Jason had woken in his own coffin. _Too dark… not enough space… not enough air_. Panic rising, but there was no light… _

_He would never admit it, but he was scared out of his mind. Time didn't seem to exist in this hell-hole. Flashes came to him. waking up, feeling enclosed and claustrophobic. Felling the skin on his fingers tear away, the blood falling back to him, and oh _god_, the pain… _

_The images just kept berating him, tearing at the wall in his head as vigorously as he had clawed at the roof of his casket. _

_Abruptly the images stopped, giving him a moment of peaceful silence. Then a new one came; this time the blood had dried under his nails, instead it was all around him. The sickening glint of metal swinging down, the horrific laughter of a maniac, no, The Maniac whom he was at the mercy of. For the first time, Jason remembered, he had a taste of the insanity that flowed from the cruel creature in waves. Jason recalled this was the moment when he wanted nothing more than to put a bullet into his own brain. It was in this warehouse, while feeling each blow, that Jason dreamed of all the ways he could just kill himself. He thought about how maybe, if he could just maneuver himself to the right angle before the next blow – it would all end. Maybe if he could get to the loose pipes at the edge of the room he could slit his wrists. Maybe if he could slam his head down on the concrete below him at just the right angle. Maybe, maybe, maybe… but there he didn't have the strength. He was cursed to die a slow and deliberately despicable death on the floor of the warehouse with his 'mother' standing by and with his father nowhere to be found. He remembered – in a flash of hate and anger and agony – He remembered…_

NO!

Jason was used to hearing the screams at night, he was used to the constant struggles between the other prisoners, and he was used to a few random cell checks and the beatings that came with it. What he wasn't used to was waking up in a cold sweat and realizing those cries were coming from him. He wasn't used to seeing Bruce and Dick in front of him with fear and apprehension etched into their faces. His body felt too heavy, the sweat covering him making him too cold, and the pounding in his head was just too loud and painful for Jason to think clearly. He didn't like the nightmarish situation much better than the one he had just awoken from.

…

When Dick opened his eyes in the middle of the night, he expected to hear the screaming of other inmates. Instead, he woke to broken whimpering. At first his mind jumped to Damian, but they had switched cells yesterday. This was _Jason._

The thought tumbled around in his head, but seemed too foreign. He turned and hopped off the bunk bed, landing silently before Jason. Bruce was already standing over the younger man.

"He's sick. Probably drugged," He whispered. Bruce laid his hand on Jason's forehead, "He's burning up." His voice was heavy with some unread emotion.

Jason rocked from side to side, seemingly fighting off his own personal demons. It looked as though he was avoiding the blow of something. Dick was absolutely sure he knew what 'something' that was too. The thought sickened him.

When his brother opened his eyes, his breathing was labored and painful. If possible, Jason's face contorted in a mixture of anger, fear, and a sickened haze of delirium. When he spoke his words were slurred and hard to understand, but Dick made out "The hell you doin?"

"Sit still. We think you've been drugged."

"No… no, lockdown 'morrow." Jason attempted to sit up, but Dick pushed him back onto the bed.

"We'll keep you safe, Little brother. Don't worry, just try to fight the effects of this thing." He offered his brother a weak smile.

Jason blinked, gaining some clarity with each flutter of his black lashes. "Don't understand… If 'm not out there at first call, they will take me away." His eyes were lit with an immovable panic and he reached out, gripping Bruce's forearm in a powerful hold. "They will take me away…" He repeated, this time staring with complete lucidity at his father.

"do you honestly believe I would let that happen?" Bruce asked incredulously.

"I think… you won't have a choice." Dick could almost cry out at the desperation that leaked into Jason's raspy voice.

"Your brothers won't let that happened." Dick glanced at Bruce before continuing. "Your family won't abandon you. If it's a fight they're looking for then we'll give them one."

"goin' down swingin'? That not like you Dickie-bird."

"Yeah, well… desperate times, right?" He smiled at the wayward bird.

Bruce stood abruptly, "I'm going to get you some water." He turned to the metal sink in their cell and started to soak a rag he'd snatched.

Dick stood to get another blanket for Jason, but his brother's hand latched onto his arm and pulled him back down.

"You asked me… what happened with that guard…" Jason took in an unsteady breath before continuing. "When you're locked up… In the SHU… It's all dark, like…" His eyes grew focused, "Like waking up in your own casket." Bruce visibly flinched.

"The only way to tell time in a place like that is… when the guards bring you your meals…" The pauses now were more for dramatic effect than real need, "There was this one that would screw up the times… He'd bring the food either early or later than he was supposed to… You have to understand, the time was the only thing keeping me sane. I just… I snapped…I didn't realize what I was doing until it was too late." Jason searched his brother's face for any sign of disgust. He found none.

"Oh Jason…" Dick gathered the younger man into his arms and held on tightly. Jason stiffened at the physical contact, but soon relaxed and awkwardly returned the gesture.

Bruce, ever the opportunist, sat on the bed and pulled both his boys into a fierce embrace. "It's going to be all right."

The wounded bird clenched his fist into his father's shirt. "If I'm taken away tomorrow I want you to know that… I'm not crazy…" His shoulders shook with emotion and tears stained his cheeks at the last words. "I made it through with my sanity…" He choked out, and there was something definitely broken about his voice. It was something Jason would no doubt blame entirely on the delirium later.

"You did, Jaybird, we would all swear by it." Dick promised, and for once, he meant every word sincerely. Whatever the next day would bring, Dick was fully prepared to die for this; his brother. The one he hadn't given the time of day to before. The one he had sworn an enemy. The one he had failed so utterly just as his father had.

He wouldn't be caught making the same mistake twice.

**All right, it was admittedly a little sappy at the end, but that's just to soften you all up. 8D**

**Anyways, Thanks for reading and please leave a review. **


	5. Let's Start a Riot

**Yes… "this chapter's obscenely late"… "How could you leave us with this?"… "Complete bull$hit"… yada yada. I've just gone back to school so my usual writing schedule is screwed up. Sorry! Anyways, here it is. I'm going to need some feedback to decide what the next chapter will be on, so please review!**

**By the way, I apologize if Tim is a bit OOC here, I've only read a few comics that included him and am only working off what I know from the animated series and those comics…. Also his brief appearance in DCnU. I know that Dami dislikes his existence... ^^" let me know if I've screwed him up, I've never written for him before… don't kill me… **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything DC does, I own only the very few OCs that appear here. **

Chapter 5

Tim stood outside his cell, discreetly turning over his last remaining object – his pillow – in order to obtain the final component to the plan: a modified egg beater. The other inmate handed the creation over, accepting the pillow with a long smile before moving away towards his own cell. Tim sighed, then shoved the beater under his sleeve before moving back into his cell to hide it. He had done this yesterday as well, acquiring all the other pieces of this particular puzzle in good time. The plan was moving together easily, now they just needed to wait for things in the prison to fizzle down, wait for the inmates to conveniently forget what tools they had traded away. Then they would be home free. Damian shifted in the bunk that used to be occupied by a certain acrobat. The two stared at each other for a moment.

"Why exactly did you choose to switch cells?" He asked casually, watching Damian's reaction carefully.

"-Tt- like I need to explain myself to you, _Drake_," He scoffed. Not for the first time, Tim found himself wondering how that kid got such a mouth on him.

"Are you serious? After all of this you're still going to hold up your little vendetta in_ here_? Jesus, Dami, wise up." He spat at the younger boy.

"I'll make up my own mind, thanks very much." His voice rose in volume and Barracks' burly frame appeared in the 'doorway'.

"Quiet." He said. His voice betrayed no emotion.

In the days since arriving here and sharing this cell, they had discovered that the man was exceedingly quiet and stoic. If Tim didn't know better he would assume that Barracks was a simpleton that Jason had picked up off the ground like a lost puppy. After all, that was what Jason had started out as… However, sense had won out. Barracks was exceedingly intelligent, he just chose to display an outward appearance of stupidity. The man noticed movement, he noticed small tweeks and twitches in the body posture of others. He noticed individual components of moveable objects. From the time they had spent together, Tim had guessed the man was once a structural engineer and one of high caliber at that. Something had happened to the older man, something that had led him to believe he had to keep his identity and intelligence a secret. It was something about the way he carried himself, the succinct way he looked at everything. Whenever the stranger spoke it was an offhanded comment about others, or the configuration of something. These little comments were enough to lead Tim to his own private conclusions.

Still, the man kept up his guise well. Tim had to give him props for that. He wondered how the hell a man like Jason Todd had ever managed to get such an asset on his side.

He also figured that at this point, being discreet was pointless. He simply let the words come out, perhaps blatantly. "How is it that a structural engineer found his way inside of-"

He was cut off when Barracks' hand wrapped around his throat. "No talking." The hand was removed quickly and Barracks disappeared around the corner like a street mouse. The next moment Barracks was nowhere to be found.

Tim sighed dramatically before turning once again to Damian who simply clicked his tongue. "Very smooth, Drake. You continue to amaze me with your sheer level of idiocy."

Tim glared at his brother, but said nothing. He'd have to ask Jason about it then.

…

"We need to move up the date." He said.

Tim watched with piercing, smoky blue eyes meeting his older brother's royal blue gaze easily. "You can't be serious, Dick. Why the hell would we move up the escape? This could jeopardize everything we have going for us!" his tone was hushed, no one would overhear them.

"You didn't see him, Timmy_. _Whatever this is… if we don't bust out soon, Jay will be transferred and we won't be seeing him again, _ever_. I don't know about you, but I can't live with my brother's blood on my hands." His glare was unwavering – one that Batman would feel proud of.

"Dick—"

"Fine, Drake, you can stay. I'm not leaving without him though." To his utter surprise the voice that floated to his ears belonged to none other than Damian. "We'd all probably have a much better time planning another escape without your presence to muck everything up."

He took a deep breath, "Shut up Dami. I support this, I'm willing to do this. I just… I don't want to see this blow up in our faces. That includes Jason's." He managed a glance at Dick.

"-Tt- we all see right through you, Drake." Damian hopped off his bunk with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. "You want Ja – _Todd_ – out of the picture so you can somehow steal Father's approval. Well, I've got news for you: I'd much rather leave _you_ here drugged and vulnerable to all _sorts_ of attacks rather than him." The boy raised his chin defiantly before spitting and exiting the makeshift home. Tim glared daggers at his brother's retreating form.

"We need a united front, Tim. This family needs to have one front to present to the others if this plan is going to work. We all need to play our part." Dick's gaze never wavered.

He opened his mouth to offer a retort, but decided better of it and instead shouldered his way past his older brother. If he was going to do this, he needed to know a few things from his 'brother'.

…

"Well, if it isn't baby bird himself, come to offer me words of wisdom and break my fast with me!" His innuendo was ruined when he was interrupted with a bout of coughing. Still, when the shakes subsided his face cleared there was a smirk firmly in place.

He was sitting next to Bruce and Barracks, across from Dick and Damian. To the untrained eye he appeared relaxed and comfortable, yet on edge and ready for a fight in a way only Jason Todd could manage… Yet Tim noticed the sweat beading on his forehead, the slight dilation of his normally bright and focused eyes, and the sluggish tendency of Jason's movements, all but invisible to anyone that didn't know the man well enough. Dick had been right, something was definitely affecting the rogue robin.

"We need to talk," Tim said. Jason's smile faltered. After a moment's hesitation, using Bruce's shoulder for support, he hefted himself out of the seat. Jason rubbed at the collar around his neck somewhat irritably before following Tim into a nearby crevice.

"We need to get some things straight here, I need to know…" Tim paused, eyeing the slight falter in Jason's usually confident stride. His gaze moved back to the gunslinger's green eyes. "How did you find Barracks, I need to know we can trust this stranger."

Jason's face contorted with anger, yet his voice was deathly quiet. "If I didn't trust the guy, why the _hell_ would I let you and Little D sleep in the same cell as him?" His voice held an unspoken accusation: Tim obviously didn't trust his judgment. He narrowed his eyes.

"Did you know him before prison? Maybe he was one of your rogue buddies?" Jason's fist clenched at his side, but he didn't swing it so Tim took that as a good sign.

"We met up in here," Jason ground out. "Not that it's any of your business, but Barracks has had a hard time in and out of this shithole."

"And by 'hard time' you mean…?"

"I mean before he came here he hit a rough patch, then he was sent to the torture camps before he came to this prison. Sometimes it's easier to forget what you know about yourself, especially when you don't want anyone to learn what you know. He has his reasons for keeping quiet, respect them or you'll have to deal with me, _replacement_." Jason stared at Tim for a moment, letting the frustration boil over before taking a deep breath and continuing, "He's got just as much incentive as the rest of you."

"But how did you become friends?" He asked.

"_Friends_ is a bit of an overstatement. I protected him while he was still gaining his bearings, when he was ready we made our plans. Thing was we were always missing the last piece of the puzzle. We needed you guys to for that." Jason smiled, but there was something off about it, not confident…

Tim's eyes widened. It all clicked into place. The plan, Jason's stepping up on their behalf, the way he goaded half the biggest fish in this place into all-out war against him. Now, he had intentionally distanced himself from his family and made an attempt to disassociate himself with them. He never planned on breaking out with them. He planned – "You son of a _bitch_."

But it was too late. The guards were coming towards him, his family was standing up and all sound in the room had risen to an almost unbearable level. The shock collar activated and Jason was falling forward into Tim's arms.

Border shoved the boy out of the way, and Jason's head hit the white tiles with a sickening 'CRACK'. His green eyes were dazed and he blinked rapidly, but before he could react, two of the four guards had taken hold of him. One lifted him from under the arms, the other from the feet. He was like deadweight between them as a prison riot broke out.

The Batfamily was rendered broken and useless when their collars were activated. Barracks stood back helplessly as the others fell around him. The perfect chaos of the moment made everything clear. In that moment Tim saw every inch of Jason's plan laid out before him like a paper trail to a seamless crime. His older brother's words echoed in his mind in summation of the events before them; _"Because, if I die it makes no ripples. If the goddamn _Batman_ dies, the world is screwed."_

Tim wanted to cry out at the vivid stupidity of the moment. _His_ stupidity, his blind and foolhardy actions, his thoughts up until this point. The point when the small family had to watch as their brother, Bruce's son, was dragged away, head lolling back and forth. Blood trailed him with every step and the serene features of Jason's face intensified the pain shared between them. Under the threat of electrocution, they could not move closer to help him. They were helpless.

"He planned it, right up to my reaction to him… all of it." Tim whispered in utter disbelief, he collapsed to his knees. The family could not move, couldn't hardly breathe. Jason had afforded them the opportunity to escape. The riot and subsequent lockdown would give them the time and cover to being digging into the wall – the blind spot – and escape within the next few days. It was perfect. Yet they would not stand and execute it. Not yet.

Despite the pain elicited by the collar Bruce stood, he rushed the guards holding Jason. He brought one down, the second was easier, but the other guards were on him in seconds. It took three more sentinels with the electrified rods to bring the man down. As he lay writhing on the floor, he watched Jason's eyes cloud with tears as he watched his father. Bruce closed his eyes. As a father he had failed, and now so had the Batman.

Dick stood abruptly, spurred into movement by Bruce's action. The guards spared not a moment's hesitation. Border slammed his prod into the acrobat's kneecap, bringing him down as swiftly as he had risen.

Damian sat frozen watching the scene, unable to make himself move, while Tim shouted something that brought his brothers' attention. Dick, Tim, and Damian said the words as one. "JAKE?!"

They screamed the words, their volume and panic rising above song of the riot. The guards did not cease their actions.

Bruce, in pain and shock could not stop the cry from flowing out of him. It was a plea that no parent could stop themselves from making, and his was full of the desperation of a parent about to lose their child for the second time. "JASON!"

Bruce, the empath, the Batman, cried. Sobs racked his body as Jason, who was wordlessly reaching out towards his father, disappeared around the corner. The sight broke something in him.

Paper fell all around them, the inmates tore at books from their cells, punches flew this way and that, and blood coated the floor. None of it registered.

The riot surrounding them continued on like nothing was happening, and perhaps it was nothing. To those inmates, this was routine. After all, Jake Forrester had never been a popular man. He would not be missed. He would not be mourned.

He was simply gone.

…

The next day "Jake Forrester" was no longer on the board, and Jason Todd was no longer at the prison. It was as if he had never existed, and that was the point. The family, despite their usual outward aggression towards the fallen Robin, was damaged by this. They wondered briefly whether they would ever see that familiar white streak of hair again.

They had drilled into the wall yesterday, in the midst of the disorder. Despite their battered ad broken nerves. Bruce had insisted that they make use of every second Jason had afforded them. In the middle of their drilling Damian had stopped, refusing to leave without Jason.

That was an improbability. Their brother would not be back.

Jason had worked with Barracks for months, they had discovered that behind the wall of the single blind spot in the entire building was a guards' break room. From in there they would be able to access more equipment. With that equipment they had a chance at breaking out without making any fuss. It was brilliant really, brilliantly simplistic.

"We should wait. We have to wait and see if he'll come back." The youngest of the family said defiantly, yet his words were strained, almost painful. "You would never abandon your son…" He choked out, staring at Bruce intently. There were tears in his eyes, yet none fell to his cheeks.

"No. No, I wouldn't unless it meant saving the rest of my children. We can't stay here."

In that moment Damian looked every bit the child he was. "No, _Father_, we can't just let him die!" The words were filled with raw emotion; Bruce cringed at the last word. "He could have just let those prisoners… He could have left me, but he didn't. I owe him. _You_ _all _owe him." He was shaking now.

"Shut up, Damian. Just Shut up." Dick said quietly. The little boy closed his mouth abruptly. The tears that had been threatening to fall were making tracks now. He rushed forward and landed a solid kick to Dick's chest.

The older boy stumbled, leaning too much weight on his injured knee, before taking hold of his brother's ankle and swinging him into the neighboring wall. Damian let out a muffled cry as he slumped to the ground. His father and brothers stood by, eyes downcast and brooding. In that moment he hated all of them.

"Why don't we take a break, huh?" Tim spoke up from the corner. The walls that surrounded them were all brown brick, leading to the showers to the left and the mess hall to the right. This little crevice was designed to hold storage, but the fourth wall (which would have held a door) had never been built. The walls seemed to contain the tension, building pressure until it seemed an explosion was inevitable.

"He can't be dead," Damian said. "Todd always had a sense of self-preservation… He couldn't…" He was fumbling for words now and the little family, for all their sleuthing skills could not figure out the best way to approach this situation without walking away more fragmented than they had ever been before.

Tim's head snapped up suddenly, causing all eyes to turn to him. "What if we prepare everything, but then wait? We have almost three more months before we're transferred. We can wait and see if he's brought back, if not then there's no harm done." He was determined. For the first time in the past few days they each shared a moment of hope.

"We will wait. If he isn't brought back in two months, we leave." Bruce said, and he choked on the trail end of his words, but they held meaning nonetheless. The father had made his decision and the sons agreed. They would wait for the wayward Robin.

**All right! Next chapter posted… Now I really need some feedback here, I'm trying to decide which version of chapter 6 I will post… do you want to read about what's happening to Jason or do you wanna skip to after that? Depending on feedback I'll be posting the next chapter sometime next week… Thanks for hanging in there, guys.**

**REVIEW!**


	6. Self Preservation

**Chapter six… here it is, I'm still not entirely certain this is where I wanted to go with it, but this is what my inner Batfamily (and the faithful reviewers) kept telling me to write… so here it is!**

**Just as a point of reference: the ones in charge of the prisons don't know exactly who all the prisoners are, most are just shoved in the camps. People of influence are worth a lot more, so they have to investigate any claims (to fame) made by the inmates; a process that sometimes takes months. So, there's a little information, that will be helpful later… **

**Also: special thanks to all those who have reviewed and have stayed with the story thus far. Thank you so much!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything DC does; I just write new situation that test the family… only my OCs belong, well, originally to me. ^^**

**ONWARD!**

Chapter 6

"_I have to hand it to you… That is one remarkable instinct for self-preservation you've got. I wonder how much more you need to feel before you cease to have limits."_

The words resonated strangely, barely seeping through the layers of his shattered mind. The first thing that actually registered with him was the warmth. Then it was the sticky and wet sensation. Then the coppery taste and scent that flooded his senses. Finally, came the pain. Excruciating, beyond his tolerance. What the Joker had done to him had been horrible – but it couldn't hold a flame to this. He let out a strangled cry. And… oh _god_ the blood was everywhere. _His _blood was everywhere.

"Bruce…" his words were broken, painful, pleading. More child-like than he could ever recall his voice sounding.

The thing smiled, leaving yet another laceration with the serrated knife.

"…Help me…"

The blade cut into him again. The arm. The stomach. Over old wounds and the newly healing ones. Then the kicks came, bruising him and causing more blood to fall.

"Please…"

It chocked him, forcing him to cough, forcing his lungs to spasm painfully against his ribs.

He was shaking now, not consciously, never consciously, but he felt it in the way the world shifted before him. The contrast between the warmth in his skin and the cold that reached his bones was nauseating. It was like laying in a warm bath outside right in the middle of a particularly icy winter. He probably looked like a dying animal, hell, he felt like one. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should terrified by his symptoms. He knew he should be searching for a way out, for anything that could help him survive…

But that echo was too far away to matter. He found he honestly didn't give a damn, not anymore. He wanted it to end – for all the pain to just go away, he just wanted to blink one more time… then never again. Flashes ran through his head in a sickening frame-by-frame: Bruce holding him during a particularly bad storm, Dick laughing at his shortcomings (how it had enraged and endeared him at the same time), Damian's many flaws and obvious desperation for acknowledgment, Tim… The damned replacement… smiling decently and saying he _understood_.

Jason hoped his family would understand, all of them… He hoped they would understand what he was about to do in order to protect himself.

With that, his mind shifted once again; setting itself to a new, more dangerous task.

…

Damian held the coin up to the light, it was just a quarter. Normal, insignificant, and overall spectacularly unspectacular. But that was what he needed right now, so he put the little paperweight in his pocket. He rubbed his fingers across the surface, tracing the familiarity and using the currency as a kind of worry stone. Sighing deeply he looked at the clock on the far east corner of the mess hall – an ritual that had become a habit lately. It showed about five minutes more than it had five minutes ago… That made sense. Still, it didn't sit well with him. He turned his eyes away from the infernal device and set them instead on his father.

The old man's face showed signs of aging. Damian wasn't sure if that was a result of the repeated attacks on his sons or the loss of one in particular. He decided he wasn't going to care. Bruce's deep blue eyes were blank as he too turned his gaze to watch the clock. It was disconcerting.

Two months had come and gone. Their transfer date was coming and Jason still had not returned. Usually the Bird's absence would be a blessing upon the makeshift family, but not now. Jason had proven himself worthy to hold the title of 'Wayne'… he guessed… in their waiting, three more riots had broken out and at least a dozen more inmates had gone off to whatever hellhole was waiting for them in the sky. This, too, he found off-putting.

The little boy wondered what his brother was thinking as his gaze at last slid to Dick.

…

Dick was sitting next to Damian at the table, slipping his plastic fork over his own tray of 'food'. He had to admit it now: He was a terrible brother. Sure, he could be supportive, he was the brother they all turned to for advice and emotional stability where Bruce had never been able to offer as much. He was the brother they looked to for leadership.

But Jason had been the strong one. He had been the raw backbone that no one had ever cared to acknowledge – but that didn't mean it didn't carry out its function. But now Jason was gone.

Dick was supposed to be the protector second only to their father… failing that – he was no brother at all.

He let the ramblings of his mind carry on, but tuned every word out. He couldn't listen right now. Instead he turned to Tim.

The younger man was doing much the same as he was, fiddling with the plate absently. He was no doubt thinking along the same lines as his older brother.

…

Tim's spirits had hit an all-time low. Not only had he taken full responsibility for what had happened to their brother, but he had also taken the brunt of the hate from Damian. The youngest had blamed his predecessor for not thinking ahead, for being blinded… The boy was right.

In a moment of weakness he had allowed himself to be distracted, thinking only of Dick and Damian and Bruce, excluding Jason from his circle trust. At one time he had told his older brother, the wayward Jason Todd, that he understood the older man. At one time he had idolized the older Robin… Yet in the darkest hour he had turned away from the Rogue. He had allowed all this to happen and he would never forgive nor forget his transgressions… He turned to Bruce. He wondered how their father-figure would recover… _If_ he would recover a second time…

…

Bruce's eyes fell succinctly to the clock… again. If he kept his mind focused on something – anything – he wouldn't feel it. It _couldn't_ crush him. he had built a wall. The wall was much like all the others, cumbersome, dark, and (inevitably) useless. He could feel the attack his emotions set into it. He would usually push it all back with this single line of defense.

But it wasn't working. Everytime he closed his eyes he was berated with emotions – images – senses… It was altogether too much to handle. A flash, Jason too cold in his arms… Jason bleeding, and so _alone_. His usually bright and angry eyes frozen and glassy…

If he kept the wall up, the images subsided to only attacking him when he closed his eyes. If the wall was damaged he'd see it every waking moment. _His son, his son_, his mind cried out at him_. _How had Bruce Wayne, the goddamn _Batman_ managed to lose his son so utterly TWICE? The answer was lost on him. He couldn't accept it; the idea was too strong, it was by no means foreign (he'd seen it before, remembered the ache), but certainly that did not make it any easier to bear. He would see Jason alive again… He had to.

Because, Damn it, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne was too stubborn to die. He had come back before; he had to make a follow-up performance. He had to.

Damian stood from the table abruptly. All eyes slid to him. Before the family could stop the boy he had screamed the words that probably meant death for the Bat family. "My name is Damian Wayne! I am the Son of Bruce Wayne." He gestured to his father who watched him, dumbstruck, from below. "These are my brothers." He gestured to Tim and Dick. "And I," He paused dramatically, "am Robin."

The other inmates began to holler and yell with fury and the room mounted with tension.

Amazing. Four generations of Robins and in the blink of an eye their secret was out. But as the family watched the mayhem and pandemonium break loose, they understood; because Damian was just as reckless as Jason sometimes – just a fearless and headstrong as the wayward son.

The guards mobilized, heading in their direction. The family held their hands in the air, waiting patiently.

"What the hell, Dami?" Dick hissed. Before the youngest member could respond, Tim cut in.

"He just delayed our transfer… The damned demon-spawn just gave us an extra three months… he just gave _Jason_ an extra three months. They have to delay our transfer until they get this straightened out." Tim's eyes were full of wonder.

Happiness, that was the word. That was the emotion. Bruce smiled. He let himself hope. And suddenly the wall was not so painfully difficult to keep up.

…

The room was small. It was blank, no formal decoration at all. The door to the left, the desk front and center, one chair behind it. Simplistic. No sentimentality nor ornaments to be associated; the room was probably not used often – if at all. Bruce took it all in simultaneously as he answered the guard before him seriously.

"My friend here didn't know what he was saying. He read about the Wayne family a while ago, he must have just blurted out what he read. Kids can say stupid things when they're hungry."

Border eyed him with suspicion, as he shifted in his seat sporadically. "Right. Nice try. We'll have to look into your claims…" His gaze raked over the members of the family. All regarded him similarly, without emotion.

The man leaned forward, looking directly at Bruce. "If this little allegation is true, then that means the kid that I transferred a while ago was your kid, Jason Todd, right? Yeah. His description would match up perfectly." Border smiled almost maniacally, lowering his tone. "I heard the bastard we transferred was one of the hardest to break – but make no mistake, he _was_ broken."

The muscles in his jaw clenched, a small twitch of his mouth, but he made no further outward response. The brothers were watching him, waiting for a signal on how they should react to the information. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

They remained silent.

"Not talking, huh?" Border said, "Well, that's all right. A shame you're not the Waynes… I hear 'Jake' talks about them all the time. Whiny little bitch he turned out to be." He smiled.

Inwardly Bruce was breaking and every fiber of him was screaming '_my son!'_ It was almost primal, the need to act out. He wanted to punch the guard. He wanted to put him in a body cast. He wanted to make the man suffer. But he didn't. His hands formed fists, ready for action and shaking slightly from the rage and anticipation of a fight… but it never came. Bruce filed the moment away. Compartmentalized it for later.

Right now, the guard was untouchable. But when they broke out, with Jason, Bruce would be sure to save some energy and time to return the favor.

"If there's nothing else, we'll take our leave." Bruce said curtly.

Border smiled again, "Why of course. By all means. Guards!" The three that had escorted them here entered the room. "escort these fine gentlemen back to their cells."

Bruce nodded brusquely and filed out with his boys.

…

The boys winced as one when Bruce's fist collided with the wall. They were sure that he had exposed at least two knuckles – and this was only his third round with the solid stone.

Their father didn't look at him when Dick spoke up "You know, however many times you fight it, the wall will always win. Something about the laws of physics or something…" He trailed off.

"At least we know he's still alive," Tim squeaked quietly. Seriously, he squeaked. They didn't need to ask who he was referring to.

The brothers turned their eyes downward and Bruce had resigned from his war with the wall. "yes. We know he's alive. And that he's being tortured." Their father's voice was detached, obviously lost in thought. Aberrations filled their minds, what exactly _was_ happening to the wayward Robin? They shuddered to think of it. "Just like with the Joker…" His voice was broken, and held a note of sadness reserved only for his wayward son.

Bruce turned piercing blue eyes on Damian. "What were you thinking? You should have talked it out with us before you just stood up and announced to the world who we were." His tone was scolding, yet not nearly harsh enough to be a full reprimand.

Damian still looked downcast. "I did the right thing."

Bruce had no response, he simply stared at his youngest vacantly. They seemed to do that too often now; looking away from one another wordlessly, unable to meet each other head on. Had that always been? It seemed like things were so skewed now.

"I wonder if they know he was drugged. That he was sick. Hurt. Delerious. Would knowing have made a difference?" His words were so soft, the brothers wondered if it had been Bruce that had said them at all.

Truth be told, there wasn't a favorable answer. There was nothing to be done. They just had to wait.

Suddenly the burly frame of Barracks appeared in the cell opening. "There's going to be a match tomorrow. Rob and Nick are going at it again, be aware and stick to the cells."

And with that advice, the man disappeared. The family had no more time to spare for the lost member. They had to carry on and hope for the best. It was all they had left to do. Bruce sighed, then shook out the burning sensation in his knuckles. It was going to be a long day, and no matter how hard he tried, Border's insinuations kept berating him from behind the wall. Any day now, Bruce knew it would crumble.

But for now, he had his other children to think about.

"Let's go."

**What do you think? Comments? Questions? **

**Leave a review! They keep me writing the story… Thanks!**


	7. Quick and Painless

**All right, this chapter hasn't been proofread as extensively as the others… but I'm on a schedule. So… here it is! Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers for the encouragement to keep writing this story! Let me know what you think so I know if I'm doing well… or horribly… ^^ Kay, thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything DC does.**

**ONWARD!**

Chapter 7

The voices were speaking again… no wait, had there always been so many? Maybe they had switched shifts. Either way, the young man stood absolutely still; he leveled out his breathing to match natural sleep patterns, and prayed none would look close enough to notice his semi-conscious awareness.

"If he is… his family may be in the system… trying to escape. We could… Jason Todd would be the perfect bait… Once we find them… The end of Batman… send him back to… the Penitentiary…"

The voices had changed, presumably because different people were alternately speaking, but the young man found his mind couldn't keep up with them. That would explain why the sentences were so fragmented, right? Yeah. His brain was just seriously fucked up. That's not too bad.

He wasn't in as much pain as he had been, the healing process was just beginning; but his mind was still reeling and couldn't be made to focus on any one thing. The days had all blurred together and he had barely been given food or water… Just enough to keep him alive.

That's all they did here. Bring you to the edge of human endurance, then leave you to recover, then start over with a new array of torturous experiments.

A woman came to him every once in a while, patched up his wounds – less than gently – then left him alone. A few days later _they_ would be back and he would be in agony. He knew a few of his wounds were starting to fester again; his immune system was just shot to hell… It was killing him.

Can't focus. That was the problem. Actually hearing the words wasn't difficult, but deciphering what the words meant, figuring out who had spoken… his mind couldn't handle the complex process right now.

Nonetheless, the injured man latched on to a single part of the conversation. Two words. they meant something to him, though he couldn't recall what.

_Jason Todd_.

Suddenly the voices were much closer, much louder. Fear and bile rose in his throat, but he could do no more than wait for more pain.

"Today's you're lucky day." The voice said.

…

The match was going well. And by 'well' Damian meant 'with little bloodshed'… yet…

The two inmates were circling each other, each with bloodied fists and even bloodier faces – again, Damian had to remind himself that this was what qualified as 'well' in a place like this.

The first inmate seemed trained in martial arts. The other was just an over-muscular streetwise fighter. The rules were simple; one inmate would come forward, challenge another, and the fight would commence. If he who was challenged refused to fight they would be killed within the week by the other prisoners. If he did not kill his opponent, both would be murdered within the week. Conclusion: a bloodbath.

Martial Man threw a few well aimed chops towards muscle's chest, both of which made a resounding impact. Muscle however, being… well, muscled, was unfazed. He shrugged off the blows as though they were nothing before landing some powerful upper cuts on Martial Man's already bruising face. The process just kept on until finally, the smaller of the two was on the ground completely immobilized by pain.

There was no counter, there was no safety bell. Muscles brought his foot down repeatedly on the other man's head until there was nothing left but mush. The other inmates went wild, screaming out their blood lust as Muscles' raised his arms in an ape-like expression of victory.

The whole scene was absolutely boring.

Damian let out a harsh sigh. This was the only action in the entire place and already the boy had become completely desensitized to it. Damian wondered if Jason had ever fought in the 'ring' here. He doubted the man would lower himself to such standards; but, nonetheless, he found himself picturing his older brother kicking ass and taking names with the best of them each time one of these farces took place.

Drake stood to his left and Grayson to his right, father was behind him accompanied closely by Barracks. All were observing the scene with nominally more interest than he. He sighed again. Dick did the same next to him. What he wouldn't give for some action… maybe he could make some of his own…

Suddenly images of the attack from months ago came to him unbidden and he could only just stop himself from moving instinctively closer to Dick. This place was wearing him down. Deep down, though he would never – _ever_ – admit it, Damian was glad his family was close to him. Even if they were short one member thanks to Drake and his general idiocy.

In the months since Jason's capture Damian had made a list in his head of all the questions he wanted to ask the wayward Robin. Ranging from things like 'favorite ways to take out enemies and favorite pranks' to 'were you ever afraid and do you blame me for what happened to you', the list was extensive. In his mind he knew these childish inquiries were simply to help keep up hope and honestly, he didn't really care.

By now the little group had heard the stories of the antics their brother had pulled off while in here and frankly, most of it made even Father crack a smile. These pranks ranged from luring roaches into the bed of the most hated men in prison to hunting down rats to stick in the grub for the day. All in all Damian found each story quite amusing. With each one that crossed his ears, the little boy found himself liking the black sheep more and more.

Father and Grayson barely spoke about him. Once in a while they would mention something that the young man had managed to pull off, or a botched mission that he had survived when all evidence said he shouldn't have… yet with each of these memories that crossed their lips they seemed more and more forlorn. It was… disconcerting. Drake had mentioned something here and there, but Damian had refused to listen or take in a single word. It was Red Robin's fault that Jason was gone in the first place.

Barracks had not been the same since the loss of his friend, one could see it in the large man's dark eyes. He seemed absent most of the time. He would keep his ear to the ground for any and all news, convey whatever he found, and then go right back to listening. He was waiting for their brother to return just as eagerly as they. Damian would have to ask Jason about their connection as well. He added it to his list. Though perhaps he may just ask Barracks himself…

The ape of muscle in the ring was still screaming, as the other inmates cleared the floor (they _were_ on cleaning duty after all). The Bat family watched all this from the cells upstairs, waiting patiently for it to be over.

Suddenly, the ape pointed at Damian.

"I challenge you, Bird Boy!" He laughed maniacally, producing a scoff from Damian.

The boy punched his open hand and cracked his knuckles. He was _so_ beyond ready for this. He needed to take his anger out. After all, like his big brother Jason, he definitely had anger management issues.

Although he could feel his family tense up around him, Damian, heedless of the danger, cast himself over the railing and landed squarely in the ring behind Muscles. The other inmates cheered diabolically, chanting and throwing out lustful comments. Damian didn't catch any of it, his ears were pounding with blood and adrenaline was flooding his system. He was ready for this.

Muscles smacked his meaty fists together (again, like a giant ape). "goin' down, Little man."

"-Tt-"

And then the battle began.

…

Tim followed his family as they ran towards the gathered men, fear for their youngest member building. The muscled man, known only as "Rage" had never before lost a fight, but that was more because he never challenged those equal in skill to him. always those marginally weaker or smaller. It was a pathetic tactic, but it nonetheless invigorated the populous of the prison.

The haphazard 'ring' of inmates surrounding the fighters began to count down from five.

"…_Four"_

"…_Three…"_

"…_two" _

Just before the counter hit one, Rage was in movement, charging at the boy and letting out an earsplitting caterwaul. Damian, completely at ease and in perfect form dodged the untrained battering ram of a creature. The boy smirks, then sidesteps the next attack. It's almost painful to watch. But something happens that hasn't ever happened before – the prisoners forming the 'ring' trip Damian.

He fell to the ground with a harsh slap that probably jarred every bone in his body. Rage doesn't miss a beat, he's kicking the boy with enough force to splinter a few ribs. The 'ring' is going crazy, they want this, the blood to run through the prison. Damian's blood. Bruce was already making his way to the center; a murderous expression was clear on his face. The brothers and Barracks are soon following suit, each knocking, punching, and head-butting anyone in their way. They may not be able to stop the fight entirely, but they can certainly stop the other inmates from interfering.

And that was the plan.

…

At first Damian thought he would play with the Ape; he would show the creep how much of a fool he was, outsmart the man at every turn. That's why he didn't see the arms and legs cast out to trip him. He fell hard. Before he could react, the Ape was above him. Muscles delivered a few punishing blows to the boy's fragile ribs. The ape spews curses and mocking jests at the boy. In this moment, Damian feels the transition; he is Robin.

All right. Play time is over now; let's try violence. Robin waited for Muscles to pull back for another blow before Damian kicked out with all the force he could muster – which was quite a bit for a ten-year-old – directly into the man's kneecap. He smiled with satisfaction as he felt the bone shatter with the attack.

The man fell to the floor, clutching at the injury. Robin is not done yet. Wincing at the pain in his sides, but still refusing to be beaten, he rose. The man is still crying on the floor, so the Boy Wonder takes his time, he maneuvers himself over to the man's sides and thrusts his foot into Muscles.

The man seems to come to life at this, he messily tries to aim heavy blows to Damian's chest. At this point he's probably getting desperate, and the Ape has definitely lost his earlier innuendo. He's all rage and adrenaline now. Robin knew from experience that such foes were the easiest to take down.

The boy blocks an incoming attack; then puts his weight into the counter attack. He lines up his elbow just right, and then brings it down into the Ape's ribs. The satisfying wet snap implies he's broken a few.

The man lets out an angry snarl of pain. But he knows it's almost over. He sits up regardless; even though he's still flat on his butt, the man comes to just over Damian's height. Muscles roars and tries another swing of his fist. _What is this _Strike of the Third Grade Bully_?_ Robin thinks as he lands a blow that easily cracks the man's cheek bone and orbital socket. It is sufficient.

"-Tt-" Robin said. The adrenaline was quickly fading as the man lay writhing on the floor, no longer a threat. Only then did he realize that the rest of the room was chanting a single mantra that made his blood turn cold.

"Fin-ish Him! Fin-ish Him!" They spoke together in a singular monstrous voice. Only his family was silent. Father looking at him with sadness. Grayson only an expression of weariness. Drake – no, Damian didn't care about what he thought.

Damian took another look at the man lying before him. He would have no choice. He will have to kill the man. The boy swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Killing the man would be easy. After all, he _had_ been raised as an assassin. That wasn't the problem. He had promised Father not to – to kill anymore… He didn't know if he could handle the weight of his father's disappointment again…

The chanting got louder, more excited, more angry. They wanted to see this man – one they hardly knew – dead. The wanted his blood to soak into the floor and watch as his eyes went glassy and devoid of life.

The boy had no idea what to do. He turned to Father. Though no emotion showed in Damian's expression, panic was clear in his eyes. His father nodded gravely, showing he understood.

Turning back to the man, Damian gulped. Then he made his move. He used his forearm to cut off the circulation of oxygen; effectively strangling him. The boy would not give the prisoners the satisfaction of seeing this man's blood. He just wouldn't. Despite the struggle, He was alive for only about nine minutes before Damian felt the man's heart stop. The struggle was over. The crowd let out a collective cry of disappointment, but soon began to file away. The guards would be back soon.

The boy's breathing was uneven and he wasn't sure what to do. He felt someone lift him off the ground and noted that they were going up stairs, but nothing else seemed to come to focus. He just let whoever it was carry him away.

…

Tim had been the closest one. It had only been logical that he be the one to carry Damian out of there. So he had.

He placed the young Robin gingerly on the cot in their cell. The boy was still staring unfocused upwards, he was definitely in shock.

"Damian?" Tim asked warily.

"I killed him."

"It wasn't your fault – you had no choice. We understand. _Bruce_ understands."

"I killed him, and they all just… cheered." Tim understood now; the boy wasn't shocked by the act, only the reaction of the prisoners.

"I know, Dami."

"How?"

Tim sighed, "It's how they work here. It's how the world works now."

The boy's blue-eyed gaze slid to Tim's. Something passed between them, Damian would later call it a fluke; Tim would say it was grudging respect.

"I've decided I don't like the world." Damian said, his voice too close to the ten-year-old he was. A delicate pout was apparent on his face.

Tim let a smile grace his lips. "Me neither, Baby Bat."

Damian let his eyes slip to the floor. He took a deep breath and then rolled over in his bed. "I wish to be left alone. Leave." The arrogance had slipped back into his tone, but there was still an edge of vulnerability. Tim's grin widened.

"As you wish, your Majesty." Tim did a mock bow before ducking out of the cell and standing guard outside. Bruce and Dick soon joined him. Barracks was nowhere to be seen.

"How's he doing?" Dick asked. His voice sounded suspiciously like a mother hen fretting over her chicks.

Tim answered seriously, nonetheless. "He'll be all right… He's a strong kid."

Bruce nodded curtly. His fists were periodically clenching and releasing; his muscles grew taut and at once were released. The rage was boiling beneath the surface. "No two of my sons have been damaged by this place." He spoke as though to himself.

"We can make it through this. We can –"

"No." Bruce cut Dick off, "If Jason isn't back within the week we are leaving," He said in a hushed tone. "I will not lose anymore – any_one _more.

The brothers exchanged a glance, but then turned back to Bruce. They had made up their minds. They nodded to him.

They would leave within the week.

Just then Barracks broke into their circle, huffing and puffing loudly, excitedly. "There's been a transport!"

All eyes were on the man. Damian had appeared in the 'doorway' and was staring wide-eyed at the older man. Their faces mirrored disbelief and… hope.

…

When they entered the mess hall, they saw him. Dick could almost cry out at the sight. At their usual table was a discernible black head with a white tuft of hair. He was lying face down into his arms, eyes closed. The family took a moment to just look at him. They could see the purple standing out on his face, a bruise slowly fading. He was probably badly injured.

One of the other prisoners had spotted Jason as well. It was Leon, the man that had orchestrated Jason's transfer (as the family had learned afterwards). He approached the prone form of Jason Todd with an air of arrogance. The man had learned how to stay his transfer through bribery of the corrupt guards. Now he was approaching their brother.

The family moved swiftly to intercept the dealer, but Leon was already halfway there.

"Well, well. Look who it is." The man smirked deviously, "How you doing, _Jake_?"

Jason was completely unresponsive. He did not even lift his head. His eyes were closed. This infuriated Leon. _No one_ ignored Leon.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Jason seemed to start at the raised voice, but he did not move besides that. The dealer growled in rage and moved to tap Jason's shoulder. He didn't get the chance.

With almost imperceptible speed Jason's hand shot out and with a sickening _crack_ Leon's middle and forefinger were twisted to the side and broken, but that didn't make the gunslinger let go of the other man. Their brother was emanating power, anger, and a force of menace the family had never seen in him before; but, Dick could also sense something else: fear. And that was more out of place on Jason's features than any of the others.

"Don't. Touch. Me." Jason spoke each word with malice. He let Leon fall to the floor, gasping in pain.

"You're crazy! You son-of-a-bitch!" Leon was lifted up by two of his 'friends' and he beat a hasty retreat.

Only once the other man was gone, did Jason sit back down. He flinched slightly and grasped his side, blood staining the cloth of his uniform quickly. He was hurt. The family moved towards him as a single unit.

Bruce spoke first. He seemed strained, concerned with his son's condition. "Jason."

The man looked up at Bruce for a moment. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, no real reaction to his father's words. "Thought my name was _Jake_?" He said strangely phrased as a question, "Not that it matters. Beat it."

Bruce looked at his son incredulously, lost for words. Dick spoke for him. "You honestly don't remember us?"

There words only seemed to enrage the young man, "If you're lookin' for a lay, Pretty Boy, look somewhere else. Preferably far away."

When Dick and Bruce displayed a horrified expression Jason's faltered. He gazed with genuine confusion at each member of the family, but still there was no recognition in his eyes.

Tim stepped forward, "It's _us_, Jason. Your family?" He phrased it as a statement, but the words came out as more of a question. Damian stood beside him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry. I don't know who you people are. Please, just leave me alone." Jason stood to leave, flinching only slightly from obvious pain. Then he stumbled his way through them to the cells.

"Well." Dick said. Then he laid down his perfect summation of the events in a single word; "Shit."


	8. Action and Reaction

**So, this chapter is a little short and pretty much a filler (kinda). This is just some reactionary content from the brother's. **

**Also: sorry for the late update, I've been trying to stick to one chapter every Thursday, but my mind kept putting up a wall that said "Muse not available at this time, please take a number" and I said "well fu*&". ^^"**

**Anyways, I want to thank all those that have reviewed this story, your reviews keep me motivated to actually finish this work (unlike a certain other story I've been refusing to write for the past couple months…) So thank you! Please continue to review so I know if I'm on a good track here and you would like to read more! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing DC/Time Warner does.**

**ONWARD!**

Chapter 8

Dick paced back and forth in the small area of his cell. His mind was racing. Heavy boots struck the metal of the bunk bed loudly. Tim sat there, restlessly picking at his nails.

"was what happened to Jason my fault?" Tim asked suddenly.

Dick stared at his younger brother for a moment, shocked. When he spoke his words were calm and cold. "No. What happened to Jason, how he was hurt like that… That was a failure darkening the entire family. Not you specifically."

Tim nodded, but his head fell into his hands. "I'm just… I don't understand what we can do. If he doesn't remember us…"

Dick cut him off. "We'll make him remember." The conviction in his tone held Tim captive for a moment.

Tim nodded again. "so let's see… Jason goes off to the other facility. He comes back, obviously wounded – did you see the blood yesterday? – and he doesn't remember any of us, not even Bruce…" Tim paused, "If he was tortured, that would explain why he doesn't remember."

The bed sunk don as Dick took a seat next to his little brother. "It makes me sick to think about. What exactly did they put him through?"

A shudder passed between the two. "You know the saddest part?" Dick motioned for him to continue, "A year ago we wouldn't have cared."

The room was silent and Tim stopped his fidgeting; Dick stopped shifting on the bed. Finally: "You're probably right. I'd like to believe that we would, but…"

"… but you couldn't say so honestly."

Dick shook his head.

"I never took the time to know him when he was Robin. I was too busy with my own pissing contest with Bruce…in a lot of ways Jason's death was my fault just as much as it was Bruce's. When you and I met I promised to be the brother I couldn't be with Jaybird," Dick turned to Tim, "When he came back… I still didn't make that effort, I didn't approach him, I didn't try to help him through it, I didn't try to be the older, bigger person in his life. And then it was too late again."

He laughed bitterly. "It seems like the Bats are _always_ too late."

Tim put a hand on the older man's shoulder. "hey, we still have a chance. Jason… He was the reason I wanted to be Robin in the first place, he was my hero. I emulated him before I even knew him." He swallowed hard, "Then he came back and suddenly we were at opposite ends of the spectrum, he was the enemy."

Dick stood suddenly, his feet landing gracefully on the ground. "Timmy you're a genius!"

"Huh?"

Dick shook his head and grabbed the younger man's hand, "C'mon! You've just given me an idea. Let's go."

And with that the brothers were off.

…

Damian stood in the 'doorway' for a few moments, waiting for his father's acknowledgement. When no such action was taken, the boy made his way to his father's bunk. Bruce looked at his youngest tiredly, shifting to face the boy more fully.

This was the first time they had been able to talk since the incident with Jason… Damian opened his mouth to speak and honest apology, but his sincerity was ruined by the first words that tumbled out: "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…"

Bruce's mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile. "There's nothing to forgive, Damian. What happened with Rage… it was unavoidable. If it hadn't been you it would have been another inmate."

Damian scrambled up onto the bunk to sit next to Father. "I just don't… You're not disappointed, are you?" He held his breath.

"I am." Damian's expression fell, "At the inmates, not you," He amended. Damian sighed audibly.

The boy laid his head against the muscle of his father's shoulder. "you're sure?" He asked uncertainly.

"Absolutely."

Damian relaxed. All of a sudden he was very tired and he simply didn't want to talk about himself.

"-Tt- you know, it just figures that Todd would be the one to drag us all down." He was sure his father hadn't missed the not-so-subtle topic change.

He felt Bruce shift next to him, only to feel the older man wrapping his arms around the boy a moment later. "Jason hasn't dragged anything down. He's just… complicated the situation." He didn't sound certain.

"Well, since Todd so rudely decided to forget everything I suppose it falls to you to tell me about his tenure as Robin." Damian lifted his chin in defiance and a pout set in to his face.

Bruce smiled again. "Why don't you wait and ask him yourself when he remembers." Damian looked at his father carefully. He couldn't possibly miss the note of desperation. Father wanted Jason to remember, was giving an absolute reason why the young man had to: in order to answer Damian's questions. The boy sighed loudly and folded his arms over his chest before leaning his head back onto his father's shoulder.

They stayed like that for a few moments, then Drake barged in and ruined everything.

He stood in the 'doorway' in the exact same way Damian had been minutes ago. "Hey Damian."

"Great, what the hell do _you_ want, Drake?"

"I just wanted to tell you that the days about to start. I'm sure Jay will be there…"

"Yes, I'm sure _you _are dumb enough to forget that we have the same routine every day, but do not insult our intelligence by insinuating that we are unaware of the day's schedule."

Tim glared at the younger boy, but quickly turned his focus to Bruce. "We need a game plan. And-"

Dick appeared by Tim's side, interrupting him, "-and we need to talk. I think I have an idea, we just need to talk to Jason."

Bruce and Damian sighed simultaneously and armed themselves for the oncoming conversation.

…

"Maybe he was just born broken and wants to stay that way," Dick said quietly. They had spent half the day trying to talk to the young man, but Jason would not stand more than a few minutes with any of them. He spoke in clipped sentences and tones, never giving them the advantage of time in a conversation. Jason had already refused to sleep in the same cell as his family members. They still had been unable to explain everything to their wayward brother. Honestly, at the rate they were going, they didn't know how much information they could trust Jason to keep. Dick had presented a plan of mentioning times in their past every time they saw the young man, but he was coming across as more stubborn than when he actually _lived_ the instances in their memory. Hence the frustration.

"No one is born broken. People are shaped by the events in their lives. The death of his mother, the abandonment of (both) his fathers, his own murder… that's what broke him… But I know we can mend this. We can mend _him_. He's just being stubborn" Bruce said.

It seemed like they had this conversation too often. Worry over Jason had never been prevalent in anyone's mind but Bruce's up until they came here. Now it was the main topic of choice. Together the four-member family traveled down the stairs towards the yard, the final chance they had to get through to the young man. They had decided last night to give the man space to process everything, but time would not permit them to wait long. They needed to escape. They stepped out onto the grass – what little was left of it – and looked out into the horizon. The world had grown dark; pollution filled the air, fires burned in faraway cities, and screams and sirens echoed eerily. The alien species delighted in the scenes of mass hysteria, they used it for their own entertainment… it made Bruce's stomach churn. He put his hand on Damian's shoulder, drawing his youngest closer.

The other inmates had already arrived; most were simply stretching their legs and forming tight-knit clumps around their gangs. Jason was already there as well. He sat on the grass, near the electrified fence with his knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. His head was down and he was covered in sweat – something was off. A few snickered at his son's hunched form, occasionally kicking dust up around him. Bruce reacted with anger, glaring fiercely at the men that he caught the eye of. Jason just looked so _alone._

In moments the family had formed a loose circle around the young man. Jason groaned and lifted his head weakly. Dick gasped when he saw the dark circles under the man's eyes and the clear expression of pain written all over his face. He trembled slightly, but his blue-green gaze remained steady.

"Oh great, it's the pretty boy and his gang of misfits again. The hell d'you want?" He feigned anger, but his words were spoken more slowly than they should have been.

Bruce stepped closer to his son, which, to his sadness, made Jason scoot backwards almost frantically. "Stay away from me," Jason coughed out.

"Did someone hurt you?" Bruce pressed.

"The hell do you care, asshole?"

Bruce crouched down in front of his son. He lowered his voice an octave, ensuring no eavesdroppers could overhear, "You don't understand, Jason. I'm your… your father. These are your brothers. Before you were transferred you planned an escape with us." Bruce gestured to his family.

"Transferred?"

"Yes. You were taken away from us during a riot."

"do you even hear yourself? This is crazy. I don't recognize any of you," Jason eyed the others with suspicion. "We barely look alike… sure the hair and the eyes, but otherwise?" The young man shook his head, as though to clear it, "You're bullshitting me."

Bruce's brow furrowed as he watched his son's eyes as they went in and out of focus. "Why would we lie?"

"Who the fuck knows!" He was shaking violently now, whether from exhaustion or anger, Bruce had no idea.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Nothing!" Jason practically screamed. He was on unsteady feet now.

Dick opened his mouth to say something, but Bruce cut him off, "What do you mean 'nothing'?"

The other inmates were beginning to take notice of the trouble brewing in the yard. They had stopped their aimless wandering in favor of perking their ears and stepping closer to the makeshift family. Tim and Damian as well as Barracks and Dick turned icy glares that scared the underlings away.

Jason looked around warily, he lowered his voice. "I don't know anything about… me." He ran tremulous fingers through his hair, sweat streaked as it was. That was it, _fear_. Bruce never thought he'd see that on his son's face. It made Jason look… as young as he was… It was hard to see when Jason was constantly emanating aggression and pain, but now… Only just twenty-one. Something squeezed his heart.

Bruce nodded, though his mind raced with possibilities. "You must have suppressed the memories while you were in that facility…" _How much did he have to face that it was easier to forget all of us?_ _My son…_ "We can tell you so much… you just have to trust us."

Jason's eyes narrowed, "If you truly know me as well as you claim to then you'll understand why I can't trust you." Jason turned to leave, but Bruce laid a hand on his shoulder. The Bat didn't miss the wince Jason released. His son was definitely hurt.

"I do understand. We all do. Just stay with us in our cells. I swear to you it will be _safer_." Jason shrugged off the offending hand and walked away without another word.

"Alright… _that_ went well." Tim said.

"Shut up, Drake." Damian hissed too low for any others to overhear.

**Thanks for reading and PLEASE review, especially if you notice any mistakes in the narrative or otherwise.**


	9. Burn

**So here's an update… I'm experimenting a bit with the narrative, especially with Tim. Ugh. We'll see how it all turns out. I promise next week I will have a longer and (hopefully) better chapter. **

**Also, for those that asked: yes, Alfred will be included in later chapters. Also I have been playing with the idea of adding more DC heroes… or outlaws for that matter ;) Please let me know if you would like to read something with these other characters in it or if that's not quite what you hope for…. Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing DC does.**

Chapter 9

Jason – that was his name wasn't it? – had put some serious thought into twisting the man's arm, hell his muscles had tried to react in that motion. But Jason found he had little strength left in him to start something. His head was pounding and every step brought him pain. His body was ultra-sensitive to any movement and his clothes rubbed and irritated his skin at an almost unbearable level. Long story short: he was sick. There was a long gash on his side (which he didn't remember receiving) had begun to fester. Long story short: everything hurt like a bitch.

That man, Byron, – or was it Bruce? – had approached and laid a hand on his shoulder. Something had stirred beneath the surface... Like all the memories scrambled in his mind were closer, like the wall was beginning to crumble.

So Jason just shrugged off the gesture and walked away. He needed to think. Needed to clear his head. To his relief the others made no motion to follow, so Jason just kept walking. He left the yard and entered the main building headed towards the cafeteria.

His shoes made a comfortable crunch on the tiles with each sauntering stride. It gave him some measure of comfort; even if everything else about himself was unfamiliar _this_ could not change. The rhythmic sounds of his body in motion, despite the sickness, were soothing. He let himself breathe easy and rolled the tension from his shoulders.

That was, until a uniformed guard snapped his attention to the present. The man was tall, maybe six foot, and waited expectantly at the end of the white-washed hallway for Jason to react. Jason was suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was; his reflexes were slowed due to the infection, and staying focused was like trying to look at the world through a layer of fog.

The guard smiled at Jason, his red hair catching the sickly artificial light at an awkward angle. Flies buzzed about the guard ominously, and the ravenette could only force himself to relax.

"you're needed on kitchen duty, boy." Jason nodded stiffly and made to follow the older man through the far doorway.

When they arrived in the dirt encrusted room, the guard only gestured for him to move on before promptly closing the door behind him. Jason made a slow sweep of the seemingly deserted room. Pots and pans hung from a wraparound island in the center, while others sat on the stove to the immediate right. The stove was on, though the pans had no food being attended there. That was strange-

"I told you you'd be dead, boy." There we go, now the list was perfect in his head: _dirty deserted kitchen – check. Utensils ready for eating with no food – check. Stupid assholes – check. _

Leon stepped out from behind the back wall and approached him almost lazily. His finger was warped at an odd angle from when Jason had broken it. The ravenette smiled, "Hey, buddy. Keeping in good health, I hope."

"You're one to talk." The man growled.

Four others stepped out from behind the wall, each holding their own improvised weaponry. Two held knives, one held an elongated club, the fourth was big enough not to require an improvisation. Before he knew what was happening Jason was in a crouch and pouncing on the men with imperceptible speed. He grasped the hair of the two with knives first and slammed their heads together in one smooth motion. When they collapsed to the floor Jason immediately took hold of one of the knives, bringing it to bear against Club-boy. The only thing that registered was the spray of red as the man's throat was slashed. The vigilante inside of Jason would not allow him to slow down and consider his actions though, because soon the muscle of the group had arms wrapped around him. Then there was pain. Indescribable agony as the bastard literally squeezed the life out of him. The knife clattered the floor as he lost upward motion.

Jason let out a strangled cry, and then his adrenaline kicked in. He curled inward and let out a well-aimed elbow which struck the mountain of meat behind him. The satisfying wet snap in the aftermath warned Jason that he'd broken bone, which only seemed to intensify the bloodlust in his veins. He let out an angry battle cry as the vigilante swung two fists simultaneously at the mountain's temples. Whoever this man had been, he was dead in moments.

Jason's breath came in labored gasps as he tried to organize the events that had just occurred.

But he had lost sight of Leon. Had disregarded his surroundings. That's why, when the hot pan burned through cloth and skin alike, Jason was powerless to do more than scream at the torture of burning flesh.

…

Tim had known something was wrong all day, had watched Jason's feverish expression. That's why when Bruce and the others left to their cell, Tim followed Jason's shadowy figure. That's why when he heard his older brother's agonized cry, Tim was prepared to help.

He followed the sounds of struggle to the kitchen where a guard stood watch. Border. The ginger checked his watch lazily, absently shoeing at flies that continuously flew about his head. When a scream erupted from the kitchen Border smiled and opened the door. Tim took his chance. He followed the guard into the room long enough to slink to the sidelines. Before him… were five dead men and one Jason Todd. His brother's hands were defensive, almost placating. Border jabbed a meaty finger into Jason's chest, but the two barely spoke. Finally, the guard moved off, leaving Jason to clean up the mess.

That was when Jason collapsed. Deciding he was in the all-clear, Tim moved out from his hiding place. He made his way through the blood and gore, through the undeniable scent of burned flesh. When he knelt before the older man, Jason clenched his fist in his shirt and pulled the boy closer. Nose-to-nose the two stared each other down.

"Get. It. _Off." _Jason gasped out. Tim furrowed his brow in confusion, and then he saw it: Where Jason had been burned, the cloth of his blue over shirt had been seared into his skin – the wound blistered and ran red with fresh blood.

"Fuck Jason, you need to stop getting yourself into these situations."

"Just get it off birdbrain." The nickname was what caught him. Tim took hold of his brother's shirt and let the older man cling to his arm.

"This is going to hurt, Jay…" Tim closed his eyes and ripped the fabric away, eliciting a scream from the older man. Jason fell forward and Tim was left with an unconscious Jason Todd, and five dead bodies.

He guessed it was just going to be one of those days.


	10. The Prodigal Son

**A/N: I kind of manipulated this upcoming scene from RHaTO, so… let me know what you think. ^^ **

**I originally planned on releasing the following events in a huge single chapter, but since decided to break it up into two or three parts… BTW, Alfred will play a more major role later, I haven't mentioned him much in here so… here's an introduction of sorts; the next few events are going to happen a bit quickly. **

**Leave a review and let me know if you like where this story is going… Please?**

Chapter 10

He could hear the bats overhead easily. They screeched their disapproval at his presence, each moment growing more and more upset. His head spun, each second pounding away at his skull like a jackhammer. He couldn't feel it, but he knew he should. His head felt like it had been stuffed with pounds of cement and every nerve ending felt hypersensitive. Again, he couldn't feel it, but felt he should, like there was some disconnect between memory and reality.

Still, outside of himself, yet not, Jason made his way up a set of stairs where an elderly man waited for him. He was glad to be out of the cold, hollow cave, but the unfamiliarity of the expansive mansion was no less daunting. The room was beautiful; an Arabian rug stood underfoot to catch each step, a mahogany coffee table sat just before a plush white cough that seemed to be calling to him. His feet moved in a familiar rhythm towards a seat. He sat down heavily, shivering somewhat violently. The old man left the room and moments later the scent of…. _Chicken noodle soup_ his mind supplied.

"Here you are, Master Jason." He set down a tray of the delicious food. "Shall we see what's on the tele?" The elderly man lifted the contraption from the table.

Without any control over his mouth, a horribly rude comment slipped out. "I can take care of myself!" He yelled.

The elderly man turned on his heels and left the room, turning back only briefly to shoot back, "Then I wish you _would_ master Jason."

He merely lifted his legs up and curled his body around them. Everything felt painful, each movement scratching his skin irritably. The feeling still wasn't his own, but he felt it indirectly nonetheless. That's when the older man appeared.

"Taking a night off every once in a while isn't a crime, Jason." It was him, the man from the prison, the one claiming he was Jason's father. Looking at him now, the older male seemed much younger; like he'd seen less pain, experienced fewer heartaches, and had less time to gain worry lines. Still, the faces matched up in his mind's eye. "So what are we watching?" His smile was infectious, and Jason couldn't help but feel the emotion inside him bubble up. It was something akin to admiration, yet stronger. His mind identified it as love, mutual and completely familial in nature.

Bruce wore a batsuit which immediately drew a connection to the cave downstairs. _Batman._ Looking down at himself he saw shocks of red and green and yellow. _Robin_, his mind did not fail him.

He jumped a little when the older man plopped down beside him gracelessly. He flipped the controller from the table and turned the television on with one fluid motion. Bruce smiled at Jason, waiting for his input.

"_The Godfather_'s a classic," Was all he said.

"So is How about _The Sound of Music_?" Bruce smiled slyly.

"Right.. how about _shoot me now?"_

"Alright, alright, compromise: _Hamlet_- I mean, _Lion King_?" Jason grimaced.

"Let's pick something where the dad doesn't die…" Jason felt himself look downwards. Then he felt an arm wrap around him.

"I'm sorry." Simple.

He could be sure that the next words out of his mouth were solely influenced by the fever. "Sometimes I'm afraid I'll lose my dad for the second time…" but he caught a thought passing in his mind _I'm afraid I'll lose a home again…_

Flashes of being on the streets filled his head; the cold, the hunger, the pain… He could see the images clearly, but none of the memories were complete; just fragmented pieces of a broken picture frame.

"you'll always have a home here, Jason. Don't ever think otherwise." They turned to look at each other and in moments Jason was in movement. He put two heavy hands on the older man's shoulders, even though his focus was shot and his limbs clumsy, Jason had something important to say.

"I need to know right now." His vision was becoming blurry. Still, he had to know where they stood. "Do you.." He blinked to regain some clarity of mind. "Do you care about me?"

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. Bruce let out a small chuckle, as though his words were absolutely foolish in nature. "Jason, what is this about?"

"I'd like to think that you're like a dad to me, more so than Willis Todd ever could have been... I need to know if those feelings are…" He had to search for the word. "Reciprocated."

Bruce simply stared for a moment. He cracked a smile, then wrapped his arms around Jason. "Reciprocated?" Feeling Jason go completely stiff, Bruce sobered. He let out a deep breath. "Jason, you're… How do I say it?" He paused again, "You're like a son to me… You… you _are_ my son… If- if that's what you-"

"Yes." Jason stuttered out. "I- I mean… That would be nice… You could be… a good dad." He finished.

Bruce smiled and ruffled his hair. "Then it's settled. We'll watch _Pink Panther_. The originals, not the remake." The moment ended, but Jason couldn't help but feel something deep inside him mend. Like some dark abyss that was starting to fold in on itself. _Like becoming whole_, he thought. Yeah, he was totally out of it tonight.

A ripple passed along his consciousness and suddenly he was gasping for air with that same man standing over him. His face was etched with worry.

Jason clutched onto the solid mass beside him and let his breath out in a single word; "dad?"

…

When Tim had walked into their cell carrying a very unconscious Jason, Bruce had nearly lost it.

"What happened?" He growled.

"some idiots attacked him, gave him a nasty burn…" Bruce took Jason from the boy's arms, cradling him easily. Jason was coated in sweat, obviously not all from overexertion. "It… um… it looks like he's got some nasty cuts that have started to… well, they're getting infected. He's not going to last much longer without some antiseptic. And some serious rest." Tim watched as Bruce gingerly laid the young man down on the bottom bunk.

Bruce swiped at the stray strands of white tangling up on his son's face. Finally able to see the man up close, Bruce was horrified. His jacket had been removed, the white shirt utterly ruined. Wounds swiveled all over his body, leaving large stains where the gashes lay festering. His quick analysis was over in minutes.

Anger boiled up in his system, anger and guilt. He should never have left the man alone. This was his fault just as much as it was the alien creatures'. Some deeply buried instinct awoke and shook him to the core. He felt a protective surge that was – if he was being honest – paternal in nature.

"Bruce, what happened?" His eldest appeared in the doorway followed closely by Damian.

"He was attacked. We weren't there." Bruce didn't look up from Jason. "Dick, I need you to get everything ready. We're getting out tonight."

Dick nodded with all the seriousness before placing a hand on Damian and pulling the boy along quickly. He turned back momentarily to look at his father-figure. "Keep him safe _and_ sane, please."

Bruce blinked past the sudden blurriness in his eyes. Jason shifted on the bunk slowly, but surely. His brow wrinkled and he began to mumble feverishly. Bruce left his side to rinse a cloth in the small sink of their cell. Returning to the boy, he passed the cool press over his son's head.

"Br-Bruce…"

_His name_.

"Dad?" the voice came through small and fragile. There were no pretenses of aggression, no ego to get in the way. At the moment Jason looked supine and very childlike. A shudder passed through the young man and his dark lashes fluttered open to reveal twin teal orbs that were equally unclear and feverish. His son's hands flashed out and clasped onto the first thing they came in contact with – which was Bruce.

Bruce stiffened at first, but soon encircled his son in a protective embrace. Jason let out a tremulous breath and held onto his father even after obviously realizing the situation.

Jason let out a painful cry and in the same breath let out the words Bruce had wanted to hear for so long. "I-I remember." He took in a gasp of air and sobbed softly, clearly in a state of delirium. "My father…"

Following his instincts, Bruce let his hand rest on his son's head in an attempt to soothe the boy. The words struck painful memories in him, but he refused to acknowledge them, refused to allow the Dark Knight the opportunity to ruin this. The wall in his mind came down, no longer having a use.

The prodigal son had come home at last.


	11. Simple Soldier

**Ok. Chapter 11, as promised. I hope this is good. I had to keep rewriting this to figure out the details… I'm also giving you my take on Jason's life outside of the prison… ^^ **

**This chapter starts out a bit confusing, but just bear with me, kay? I'm experimenting a bit. Thanks for the patience and all the wonderful reviews! The next chapter is almost done and should be posted tomorrow. **

**(Btw: go take the poll on my profile, pretty please? :)**

Chapter 11

The blaring siren still echoed in his ears painfully. His mind pounded and adrenaline pumped through his system. His body was in overdrive, his fight-or-flight response in full swing. His eyes took in the whole picture, his digestive track and other systems had shut or slowed down for maximum muscle output and lung capacity.

He would need it. With Tim cradled in his arms bleeding profusely, and with Dick and Damian only barely keeping up with Jason limping along… They were all in bad shape.

Yet they couldn't stop, their feet had to keep beating the ground in a slapping monotonous pattern. Huffs of breath escaped their lips in small clouds of morning air, the cold just nipping at their limbs. They could not stop.

The escape had not gone as planned, not at all. They had still gotten out, but at a terrible price. And Barracks…

No, he couldn't think of that now. They were almost to the city. Once they were there, the sun would rise and warm their bones. They would find Jason's safe house, and they would be home free.

Bruce almost had to laugh out loud. When would he learn? No one can ever predict the end. Never.

The yelp of dogs at their heels kept their sour muscles in constant motion, Kept their minds trained on the prize, and kept their hearts beating at the highest rate. They would be easy to lose if they could just get to the city. _Too many ifs, Bruce_, the voice still dedicated to Batman screamed.

But what could he do? Though fatigue ripped into him parallel to the pavement, he had to keep pushing. His mind kept wandering back to worry for Tim and Jason, but he couldn't even spare that focus. Had to stay in the present.

Ah Ha! Skyscrapers finally surrounded them; the familiarity here almost made his heart jump with sheer exultation – if it had the energy to do so, it would. He'd never been so happy to see the mountains of garbage, to smell the ribald scent of wet dog, to hear the screams and sirens of the police… It was refreshing after months of hellish monotony. He pulled Tim onto his back and made a sharp turn into the alleyway to his right. His son tightened weary arms around his neck and Bruce came to the ladder that would take them to the roof of the nearest building. Bruce climbed the rungs two at a time, his body thrust into overdrive once again. Once he had made it, he let Tim down and reached a hand to help Damian, Jason, and then Dick.

They paused here in a rush of freedom, letting their bodies heal in the momentary peace.

Then they were running again.

They were running for their lives.

…

No matter how hard he tried to push it away, Jason kept seeing the past few hours written all over. He was every moment and he agonized over each detail with crystal clarity. The memory bit at him, chased his heart with each beat, and cried for his attention.

And then he was back there again.

And then he was trapped in the memory.

…

Jason raised his head from the bunk bed, after crying for what seemed like hours he was still exhausted. Nonetheless, he knew he had to get up. Bruce helped him with that aspect.

Pain erupted through him, but he pushed that ache down. Now was not the time.

Once the two were up and ready, Dick and Tim were there waiting with a man named Barracks in the background.

Jason had admitted to them that he had not yet regained all of his memory, but that it was coming back in small chunks. It was like his mind would flash a picture that afterwards Jason would have to play guessing games with. He could see Dick there in his mind, but never more than fractured glances. However, he did remember two he had not seen here, one beautiful, orange skinned _Tamaranian_ (his mind supplied) named Kori, and one idiot named Roy who always wore a baseball cap… He vaguely recalled Damian, but nothing at all about the other boy – not even flickers.

He remembered Bruce, though. He remembered his father. Bruce trusted Dick and Tim and the little boy. Jason figured that meant they were trustworthy.

"We need to go _now_." They all nodded soberly, tonight would be bloody.

Bruce stepped forward, placing his hand on Jason's uninjured shoulder, "Collars first." Tim nodded. They made their way fairly quickly down the stairs with only a few wandering glances from the other inmates. For some reason, and despite his injuries, Jason found himself gravitating towards Damian. Just as his father had placed a hand on his shoulder earlier, Jason wrapped an arm around the boy and held him close. He was surprised (though, again, he wasn't sure why) when the child leaned into the touch.

It didn't matter, they kept moving.

Once they reached the blind spot, they were ready. Tim called his brothers over one at a time, pulling out a guard's electrified prod. This was how they had to remove the collars. It was the only way to counteract the constant flow of electricity running through the little nooses. Apparently, before he had lost his memory, Jason hade figured out the collars sent electrical signals to a main watchtower. If the collars were removed an alarm was sounded; however, if they were short-circuited, it would take the guards longer to figure out the source of the disturbance. There would be confusion, there would be searching, and the mayhem that ensued would open a window of opportunity.

Jason had to suppress a cry of pain as the stick came into contact with his neck, but felt relief when the satisfying click of the release was sounded. Still, he had to stop himself from reacting violently as Damian whimpered when it was his turn.

Soon enough all the collars had been removed. They were ready.

…

The door handle in his palms was cooling and Bruce had to remind himself that this door was not rigged. The key Jason had hidden was right where the boy had left it, and for that, Bruce was thankful. It was one less hassle to deal with. The key clicking into place had a calming effect on his mind and the threshold was opened to them.

Bruce was fully expecting a dingy apartment with little to no adornment, some spring-popped mattress, and moldy kitchen equipment. Instead, he was affronted by a sprawling space with a natural, yet disconnected feel to it. A bed of master quality sat in the corner, mahogany headboard acting as a firm support. The blankets were piled high, yet folded neatly in place with measured preparedness. The kitchen stood to their right with updated and shining steel equipment ready for immediate use, and matching mahogany cabinets. A work space was across the way, the wooden desk there kept silent vigil under a high-tech and seemingly well-maintained computer system. Stretching between all three was a plush red carpet and living area with an Ikea, long couch and Television set. Books and knickknacks were scattered here and there. Everything here was purchased top notch and probably very expensive, but the most striking detail of the room was the clean and detached bliss of it all.

There was a small layer of dust coating the room, but that only hinted at disuse, not disorder. Each stack of books was neat and in specific place of direction. Each piece had the same exact space between it and the next paperweight. Not a pen out of place. It was hauntingly familiar to a military home. Like a discharged warrior returning after terrible trauma to create simple organization in a world that no longer seemed to carry it. It reminded Bruce that Jason still thought of himself as a soldier. It reminded Bruce that he had failed his son.

It reminded him that Jason was still very much damaged.

**Please leave a comment and let me know what you think because I'm honestly not sure.**


	12. We Hear You

**Here's another chapter… and By the way, has anyone read RHtO 0? What the heck was up with that? Bruce literally had TWO line bubbles… again, I must say: What the freak DC?LLMLfhbshfs**

**Anyways. *coughs* Here's the chapter. For those of you wondering, I've mashed the pre-reboot and New 52 Jason's. He's keeping his headstrong nature and origin story with the wheels and the Batmobile, but he's taking on the All Caste and his troop of Outlaws (Roy and Kori). If you have any questions or concerns let me know. Thanks! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything DC does (though sometimes I wish I did).**

Chapter 12

The stone scratched at their knees with each desperate crawl for escape. The collars had long been forgotten, only the slight burn remained. They had managed to finish off the wall in mere moments, behind that had been the officers' break room, and beyond that, the sealed vent that led to the pipes below.

Tim had managed to smuggle in a pint of liquid nitrogen (seriously, don't ask me how), and now all they had to do was smash through it. They were through the opening and hustling to find the final exit point in no time at all. Jason pushed himself to keep going and something inside him, some indomitable will screamed for him to live at any cost.

So Jason moved, ignoring everything but the path ahead. His mind had other plans. It hurled images at him of being cold and hungry, of being absolutely alone and afraid. And then there was anger.

His head snapped towards Bruce, but the other man was far ahead. Jason would have to wait. In the meantime, Jason allowed the memory to boil in his blood. He _remembered_ being alone on the streets, though the images were damaged and fragmented… he remembered crying out for Bruce, but that the man had never come…

Something about the abandonment killed him, the separation hurt him. It attacked him even as he tried to throw the memories away, to focus on the here and now. He wasn't sure if it was his personality or his mind just screwing with him, but he couldn't let it go.

That's when the tunnel widened and they all landed in a group. They would move on momentarily, but Jason took the moment to grasp Bruce's shoulder tightly. "We need to talk."

Bruce paused and waved the others on, even Barracks. Jason lowered his voice enough to growl out the next words, "Why weren't you there for me?"

The older man's brow wrinkled in confusion, reflected in his eyes. "What?"

"I remember being alone, damaged… Calling out for you, why weren't you there for me? You're supposed to be my father, yet you weren't there… I need to know _why_."

Bruce sighed, obvious grief and shame taking hold of his eyes. "You… you _died_ Jason… I wasn't able to save you… But you came back, you wandered the streets and I… I never knew, I _couldn't_ help you…"

The sheer agony in the statement halted the anger in his mind. The words themselves caused his shattered brain to fly back in on itself. He didn't remember _any_ of it, but he could almost feel the cold string of attacks that broke his bones and the heat of a flame that burned his skin. A strange disorientation took hold, but he simply nodded to the older man.

Bruce put an arm around him and pulled him close. "I'm sorry, Jason… But I'm here now."

Jason nodded again and staggered with his father towards the tunnel once again. He was still angry, there was no doubting that. However, he could resign himself to patience. Seeing the heart-stricken expression on Bruce's face had convinced him. His father deserved better.

Jason could still feel love and compassion in his heart for the man. He couldn't just let that go… could he?

…

"_This_ is your place?" Dick asked incredulously.

Jason nodded, walking in unsteadily and tossing his jacket on the counter. He wasn't overly concerned with the organization of the place, but something told him that the higher order helped him think. Something about the place set him at ease. His muscles, screaming at the overuse, relaxed and his heart slowed down a pace.

"Yeah. This is… this is it." He didn't know why, he just couldn't force out the word "home". Bruce stepped inside quickly and laid Tim down on the couch. Damian closed the door with finality.

They were alone… together.

Jason smiled to himself. One big happy family, right? It was laughable.

"Do you know if you have any bandages here? A first-aid kit, maybe?" Jason was racking his brain for a response when his body just moved. He arrived at a side door where the bathroom was and reached into the cabinet there. The first-aid was expanded and had several articles that would help Tim, including antiseptic.

He tossed the kit to Bruce and plopped down next to him. Slowly they began to wrap the boy's injuries.

"Uh… Jason?" The young man turned to look at Damian when he spoke. "You… You have a message."

He raised his brow, then stood. He allowed Dick to take his place by their brother and made his way to the blinking machine on the counter. Sure enough, he had a message.

Jason lifted the phone off the holster and splayed it out. He pressed three buttons (*97), without fully comprehending how he knew them. The speaker button was the final key.

"_You have, one unheard voice message." _The mechanical, female voice boomed. "_First message: 'Shut up, Kori, I'm leaving him a message right- Hey, Jaybird. I don't know when or if you'll even receive this, but… We're here. We found the Cave just like you said. It took us a little longer, but we met up with this cool British dude and… anyways… We're here. We're waiting for you, buddy…' End of voice message. to hear the message again, press-_" Jason hung up.

His heart clenched in on itself. _Roy_. _Kori._ His friends. They were waiting for him. They were counting on him. He remembered these two. He remembered his feelings for them, he remembered his leadership over them.

He remembered that they _mattered_.

Even as Jason looked up at the men that were supposed to be his brothers, his family, he could not for the life of him recall their time together. How was it possible, then, that he could evoke with practiced ease the adventures he'd had with these two people? It didn't make sense.

The room seemed frozen in place, all eyes were on him.

He let out a breath he honestly hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "So. I guess our next stop is Wayne Manor."

…

The manor. That sounded so good right now. It was strange. Before shit hit the fan, the manor had been the last place Dick had wanted to go. Back then – it seemed so long now... – Dick had been so damned preoccupied with being angry with Bruce. Now, Dick didn't ever want his family to be broken again. Not even with Jason.

He had to admit that seeing Jason's safe house had been a bit of a shock. Dick expected to see a filthy junk heap , but the sight that greeted him was actually much better than his own apartment. It wasn't on par with Tim's OCD madness, but it was… militaristic in fashion. He had never considered Jason as a soldier, or maybe he'd just never _wanted_ to see him in that light.

He remembered Jason as being headstrong and brash, but the boy had always been smart. He was never without a purpose. He was never without a cause. Jason had fought till his dying breath for what he saw as justice, and he'd never really failed Bruce in that respect. Jason had become patriotic to Bruce's cause, he'd become a soldier at night as Robin.

And he'd died as a soldier, but more than that, Jason had died as Bruce Wayne's son.

Dick remembered the day of Jason's funeral speculating at how few people had actually come… Sure there were Bruce's 'sympathetic' business partners, and the members of the Titans… but really it was only ever their small, makeshift family.

Maybe that was why it had been so dizzying to hear his best friend's voice on that message. A voice that had so often been tinged with drug use and lost priorities, yet this time his voice had been clear and… god, was that admiration? Much like all the rest Dick had never, in a million years, seen Jason as a leader.

Sure, Dick had heard rumors of Jason's return from the abyss, he'd even heard of Jason taking on a team that called itself 'the Outlaws'. The surprising part was that Dick's own friends (one of them an ex-) had joined his little group. Roy and Kori… He missed them both. Their adventures together with the Titans, Roy's constant shenanigans, Kori's… well, Kori's _everything. _

He missed all sense of normalcy.

He took a deep breath. Tim had been wrapped in bandages now, his wounds cleaned, and finally he had been anesthetized. Jason sat on the floor next to Dick, with Damian leaning heavily on Jason's side.

Bruce was keeping close vigilance over his downed bird.

Tim… Why had it been Tim?

…

They were making good time, Tim had said. The boy was just behind them now. The exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours was finally taking its toll on the boy.

"Come on, Tim. We still have a ways to go before they realize we're gone."

His brother pushed himself to go faster, and soon they were in near-perfect cadence with one another. Only Jason and Bruce lagged behind now.

That was why the shrill siren caught him off guard. Dick jumped at the sound, the repetition of calls booming through the tunnels and hurting his ears. That's what pushed the family into a sprint.

"Shit. I thought we'd have more time than this…" Tim cried.

"Drake! You imbecile! How could you have miscalculated?"

"don't worry, Tim. We'll get out of this." Dick assured.

"Less talking, more running." Bruce shoved both his boys forward to pick up their speed, with Damian just behind them.

Jason ran, trying desperately to keep up, but chronically fell behind. His injuries were slowing the group down. Dick fell back and wrapped an arm around the young man's waist and pulled Jason's arm around his shoulders to support his weight. "I gotcha, lil' bro."

Jason grunted, but made no other response.

If Dick had not dropped back behind Tim, he might have seen it coming.

As it was, the family stepped out of the tunnels and into the crisp night air.

And Tim was shot.


	13. Drake

**All right, some practice with narration. Let me know what you think! Thanks!**

Chapter 13

The bullet that hit him wasn't _too _bad. Hurt like a bitch, but still, just a shoulder wound.

_Lucky._

No, that shot wasn't too bad. It was the second shot that ripped into his side that really hurt like a _mother_…

Without realizing when or how, Tim was on the ground, holding his side as the slickness of crimson streams rained down. He choked on the copper taste and cried out in pain. Vaguely he heard his brothers shifting around him and he tried to push himself up... He landed in a heap on the ground.

_Nope. Sorry, Timmy, Muscle is definitely out for the day. Can I take a message or you just wanna pass out now?_ His mind bit out sarcastically. _Fuck you_ he said back. It laughed, _That would be improbable._

Wow. He was already out of it enough to start a conversation with himself. _Way-to-go, Tim._ Honestly, what was the harm in another ludicrous word or two?

Oh, right. He was bleeding profusely.

He let out a shuddering breath and collapsed. His body was blazing; whatever floodgates had been opened by the bullets could not seem to be closed. Tim tried to catch at the crimson fluid in his hands, but was shocked as each drop slipped past. His eyes began to glaze over as his heart beat loudly in his ears.

In a matter of moments, Bruce was there. His father wrapped strong arms around him and hefted him from the ground. Tim paid the older man the courtesy of going limp, but the action caused him to cough painfully as the man brought him to bear and began to run. Each step jostled his bones even as endorphins rushed through his system. Then atop it all, his mind was consumed with another sight: over the muscle of his father's arm he saw Barracks go down in a flare of blood and gore.

The man was torn apart. Jason was blank and afraid. Dick pulled their brother away. Damian screamed. Tim bled.

That was when the world went dark and gray and harsh.

Vaguely Tim wondered at last if he would ever see Gotham again.

…

When Tim opened his eyes to the unfamiliar place, his heart just about jumped out of his chest. His memory came back to him in a rush, and he frantically searched the house for any sign of his family – only to find them asleep in a pile on the floor.

Together the group clumped atop pillows and blankets that lay out sporadically. Damian had fallen asleep with his head propped up against Jason's lap while Dick leaned back on the younger man's other side. Behind them and with an all-encompassing embrace Bruce held the three closely. Jason looked as though he had changed and his arm was wrapped, which Tim could only assume meant his wounds had already been seen to.

_Jason_… He could still see Barracks and the pain written on his brother's face at the loss of the older man. Tim wasn't sure how the two had originally met, but he still felt the grief. Barracks had been a good man to them, he had kept them informed even after Jason had been taken. Barracks had defended them in the Hellhole, though he had never spoken more than a few words. Tim wondered if the man had ever really conversed with Jason.

Tim was startled from his thoughts when the person in question blinked twice before looking more awake. He sat up, off the shoulder of his father, and looked around. When he saw Tim staring, he froze. They blinked at each other for a few awkward moments. "How are you feeling?" Jason asked after a period of time.

"Fine… um… how are you?"

"Fine."

His mind berated him all at once and he couldn't stop himself from asking it. "Did you… Did you remember how you met Barracks?"

Pain flashed across his brother's face, but it was gone almost instantaneously. He deadpanned. "Yeah. I remembered him."

Tim looked away, avoiding eye contact for a few moments.

Jason carried on anyways. "He owed me for somethin. He was a good man, a Seal. Had a wife and kids back home…"

"I'm sorry."

The older man shook his head and smiled slightly, though Tim could see the grief hidden there. He chose not to acknowledge it. "Well… I don't know why, but I have this really weird preoccupation with food… So how's about I check around for some breakfast, hmm?" Tim nodded, grateful for the swift topic change. "All right then. Maybe this whole big brother thing isn't such a bad thing after all."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Tim asked.

Jason shrugged; he lifted Damian off his lap and placed the child onto Bruce before standing.

Thirty minutes of rummaging through the kitchen later and two protein bars were thrown in his direction. "Sorry, Buddy, that's all I've got that's still good. There are a few cans left, but I figure we should save those until we absolutely need them."

Tim nodded and fiddled with the wrappers before finally biting into the bars. In moments he could feel the energy swamping him and the fog lift in his mind. He sighed contentedly. "I think I might kiss you." Jason laughed quietly.

"Thanks, lil' bro, but curb that impulse."

Tim smiled at the endearing term.

The older man slowly lowered himself to the ground, wincing as he did so. His burn was probably still killing him. "Barracks was a good guy. Those things… they got to him…"

"Do you remember anything about... when you were gone? What happened to you?" Tim could tell he was uncomfortable, but he had to know.

Jason's eyes went unfocused, as though he were being attacked and had gone into self-preservation mode. A minute later and after some prodding from Tim, Jason's body relaxed marginally and his eyes regained some of their focus. "I get flashes, sometimes. I see myself, but… I'm not physically _in_ my body, it's… surreal. Like Déjà vu, but stronger and more vivid." He paused, seeming to arrange his thoughts around a singular issue. "I remember the pain sometimes, the overwhelming flood of my senses."

Jason sighed and looked away, refusing to elaborate further. "I'm sorry, Jason. I didn't even realize what your plan was until it was far too late… I let my suspicion—"

"We're not playing a game of blame here, kid. Believe me, if we were talking about that you'd know."

Tim recalled all the times that the Red Hood had struck out at Bruce in anger – yeah, he would know if Jason was angry with him.

"Do you remember what happened before you were taken?"

"Look, kid, I'm sorry, but my head is killing me right now. I can't think about this right now." The older man shut his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Tim nodded towards the bed in the corner. "Why don't you rest there instead of, you know, on the floor. It would probably give you at least a few hours of quality rest."

Jason shook his head once more. "I don't like sleeping in a bed. Just feels uncomfortable to me."

A smile touched his lips; the street kid was definitely still omnipotent in Jason. However, a mumbled "I see," was all Tim responded with.

"Get some rest, Baby Bird."

Tim was about to protest when his mind caught up to the words Jason had said. _Baby Bird_ that was his nickname… but how could Jason know about it? Did he remember? Whatever the case... Tim's eyes were drooping and his wounds were beginning to throb again. Sleep cried out to him, coaxing him from the waking world preternaturally.

Tim would have to think about this later, bring it up to Bruce and Dick. As it was, he settled back and let his brother's gentle wheezing lull him to sleep. From the tip of his awareness he saw Jason smile easily and relax enough to rest in the little nest the Robins (and a certain Bat) had formed.

**Please leave a review and check out the poll on my profile… I'm trying to decide if I want to write more of these. Thanks again!**


	14. Homecoming

**Sorry, this one is exceedingly late… I'm not even going to try and explain this one, please read and review. Thanks!**

Chapter 14

He awoke to a warzone; pieces of the ceiling raining down on them. Jason blinked past the sleep clouding his vision only to be jerked to the side as a particularly well-aimed bullet drilled a hole into the place he had been standing on. Bruce came to his rescue once more before the boy was finally able to reclaim his senses. Jason was in action.

The bastards had found them.

They had torn a hole the size of an RV into his apartment, set it aflame, and were now waiting for the family to bolt.

"Fuck," he spat, logically sweeping the area for his brothers. Damian seemed to have recovered enough to be on his own two feet, Tim slightly less so. The teen was leaning heavily on Dick, but he was up nonetheless.

Jason tested his muscles, finding that the pain was nominal, or at least inconsequential – it could be ignored until the adrenaline stopped pumping.

So ignore it he did.

Jason let out a cry of warning; pulling Bruce with him as he took off towards the closet he had gotten his other supplies from earlier. His brothers swiftly followed, and once inside a simple key code opened up another passage – one that led to the floor below, and the floor below, and so on until the ground floor was accessible. Jason recalled that he had installed such preparations in each and every one of his 'homes'.

The young man pointed to the now-recovered staircase in a silent command, one that was followed immediately.

As the family made their way downstairs, the crashes from behind them slowly faded until finally they stopped altogether.

"They're on to us. Move faster," Bruce said authoritatively. Only a slight quiver intimated any fear or concern.

They picked up their pace.

When the final turn in the winding way came, the wall flew inward at them throwing Damian over the rail. Bruce only just managed to catch hold of the boy's hand in time to keep his son safe – though the audible pop of a joint being displaced told another story. Damian cried out in shock, but did not complain. Bruce pulled the child to him, holding Damian close as they continued to run. They had to keep going.

Jason retrieved his Beretta from his person, shooting three shots – enough to chase whatever had made the hole into hiding.

"Where the hell were you keeping that?" Tim asked incredulously.

Jason shrugged but made no move to answer.

They reached the door moments later, and they were out.

Out into a world boiling in chaos.

…

Bruce watched as people ran from one area to another in frantic, undisciplined patters – panic, fear, and pain mingled in the air creating a stench of unimaginable torture. The Bat began to stir inside him at the injustice, but Bruce had to quash that urge. His sons were relying on him. Damian was still cradled in his arms with exhaustion in every feature.

Despite the sight, he was somewhat relieved. The behavior exhibited indicated that the attack had not been on them in particular, but the entire town. While it meant more destruction, it also meant protection from their pursuers.

The confusion would provide them with the perfect opportunity to escape.

They ran, blending in quickly with the crowd. Jason led them, Dick behind him with Tim at his side while Bruce brought up the rear in case of an attack. The group swiveled through the crowd, making holes where they could and bouncing off particularly irritating walls.

The city was abuzz with activity; with cries for help, cries in pain, and screams of hate – though for what, Bruce could not be sure. What he did know was that if they could not reach the city's outskirts by sundown, there would be no hope of escape. If they failed… then perhaps he would join in the chorus of agony.

As it was, Bruce kept on running.

…

"We're almost there, Timmy," Dick whispered. "Just hold on, buddy."

The family had made their way out of the city only a single night ago. Luckily, the landscape was quickly changing, beginning to look more and more like familiar territory. More like the outskirts of Bludhaven.

Dick was surprised at how much the thought of being home – as corrupt and disgusting as the city itself had been – elated Dick. Seeing the red glow of the city from here was a relief, yet a dread at the same time.

"Well, Pretty-Boy, your place or mine?" Jason asked, waggling his eyebrows. The younger man crouched down in the brush, followed swiftly by Dick and the others.

"My apartment is on the east side, we would have to travel around the city to get to it. Do you have a warehouse on the outskirts?"

Jason paused, racking his brain for information. His teal eyes widened slightly before he spoke, his voice somewhat detached, "No. mine is near the center of the city."

"My house then."

"Yep."

They stood on cue and began to run, their journey far from over. Dick and Jason paused periodically, scanning the area swiftly before moving too far ahead. They moved like this for hours with Jason moving slightly ahead.

Soon enough the brothers had formed a system; Jason would move ahead, Dick would keep an eye out to ensure no alien loyalists were creeping about. If ever one appeared, Dick would release a shrill whistle of alert. Hearing the bird-call Jason would crouch down, bide his time and then attack the unsuspecting guard – cutting off circulation with a well-placed headlock.

And bing, bam, boom – they were waltzing into town. To avoid wayward stares Tim was forced to carry on by himself, with only nominal help from his older brothers. Bruce lightly placed his youngest on the ground, allowing their brother to stumble along with them.

Jason fell back from the lead to allow Dick the headroom to guide them to his apartment.

They blended in fairly easily, following the larger crowds towards their destination. It physically drained him to see the people of hi city this way – they were in a state of constant shock, constant fear, and constant turmoil; all things that were present before, but seemed ever more amplified now. His surroundings echoed back into his consciousness, awakening Nightwing, the vigilante that had been suppressed for the past few months.

It would have to wait, though. Only a little longer.

And that's when they made it to their safe haven.


End file.
